#it was the blood drinking which i find inherently fascinating

[xehanortsreport]

anyone else semi-regularly daydream about sucking warm blood outta someone's neck like an unpleasant capri sun or is that just me

[confirmeddead]

Can we take a second to reflect on the truly f*cked up intimacy that exists between Armand and Daniel - and which might come to exist? Even if we put away the possibility of a past-DM relationship!

Armand potentially spent days - days - looking through Daniel’s mind looking specifically for what makes him fascinating. Looking for the reason behind Louis’ interest. Looking through all of his life, dreams, hopes and shame. All of this then resulting in Armand trying to talk Daniel out of his own life through a nihilistic script specifically tailored to him. Ending with that embrace (as Daniel embraced him as his Death), and him drinking Daniel’s blood, and forever leaving his mark on his neck. Then we have Daniel Molloy, Pulitzer Prize winning journalist who is many things but most importantly a very competent journalist. Someone who is able to listen, gather research and find some version of the truth hidden behind the smoke and mirrors his subjects tries to conjure up in front of them. The Talamasca has sent him detailed files, which we know reveal a lot of the history and horrors of Armand’s life. Will Daniel in the finale use his skills as a journalist and analyze Armand to get to the truth? (As he does with Louis, as already seen). There is basically a level of enforced intimacy between the two, as they have both without the other’s consent learnt a lot(!) about each other. And if speculation is correct and Armand turns Daniel into a vampire this season? Will Armand see Daniel’s life flash before him? And if that is not intimate enough(!) they will then both be left with a bond unlike anything else - which has been shown to literally make maker/fledgling ’feel’ each other, their respective emotions and thoughts. Like what even is this relationship, and can I get more please haha?! If DM didn’t happen in the past will Armand go to drain Daniel and realize as he does so that the boy from the 70’s still finds him absolutely fascinating? (I strongly believe that Armand believes Daniel when he claims to not find him boring in episode five). Daniel is an insatiably curious journalist with an addictive personality (and maybe a little of an adrenaline junkie, no?) - and Armand must surely be a truly fascinating subject, even given what Armand’s done to him (one vampire might not be enough to interview/to come to understand for Daniel…). Will Armand see that and will that be partially what makes him suddenly decide to turn him??? Their chemistry has been interesting since season one and has only become more intriguing and compelling. I have so many thought, many not really coherent - sorry, love you blog! What do you think?

Hi Anon! First off, let me thank you for sending in your thoughts. I really love having conversations with other fans, especially regarding Devil’s Minion and Armand. I’ll set aside the possible past-DM as well, by the way. Buckle up!

There’s something really important being set up for viewers with Armand and Daniel’s relationship. Let’s look at what the show has presented us with. Armand and Daniel’s meeting was, quite possibly, the worst way for two people to meet. Looking into someone so deeply and, through your own selfish reasons (jealousy on Armand’s part), continuing to coax this young man into Death’s arms is inherently messed up. This isn’t something anyone should take lightly, and Daniel doesn’t. Therein lies the odd set up to their eventual maker/fledgling relationship. I love what you say is “enforced intimacy” because that really is what it is!

Daniel’s character is a juxtaposition when most of who we’re seeing are these immortal vampires. He’s our voice when we want to tell off them off, he’s our conscience and sense when we’re presented with lies, horrible situations, and straight up buffoonery. Putting this man in the same room with The Not-So-Master Manipulator Armand is going to give us some amazing results. He isn’t a 20 year old who will welcome Death with open arms, he’s a bright reporter with just about every point of view a human can have gone through at this point. And this is what will perk Armand’s interest.

I fully believe Armand finds Daniel fascinating already. I don’t think he saw it in SF, marred by his own feelings with Louis, but was open to the idea of trying to see it for the sake of Louis. There’s a huge part of Armand that wants to serve someone, wants a teacher, wants a leader. The teacher part being something he knows he seeks- he sought it in Louis. Louis’ big appeal to others is his humanity, something Armand lacks but craves. And Daniel, not intentionally, is going to give Armand this dynamic he seeks to give him purpose to keep living.

Older Daniel has decades under his belt with his profession and his personal history. Aging up Daniel and having him be this well-respected journalist is probably the smartest thing the writers could have done for the ~bigger picture~ in regards to Armand’s storyline (since he’s such a big player in TVC). We the viewers are presented with someone intelligent, strong-willed, and cutthroat. What can Armand gain from being with someone like that? Literally everything. He’s not a replacement for Marius, Lestat, or Louis. He’s something Armand genuinely needs after everything he’s gone through (and put himself through, let’s be honest). I’ll rehash one of my previous theories that Daniel isn’t the Boy we met in the books who went a little crazy after being turned- our Daniel is a fighter- and he should be ringside on Team Armand. A coach, a shoulder to lean on, an active listener.

So present-day Dubai

I think after everything is said and done in Dubai, Daniel will find the vulnerability in his next subject. He’ll have cracked Armand but will be shocked to find the soft(ish) interior. Daniel will see Armand for who he really is- someone stuck in a loop of their own trauma but also someone with real feelings and love to give. Not just a monster manipulator. Still that scared boy from Delhi, maybe, but not a lost cause. Never.

I’d really love a callback to 2x05. No, Daniel isn’t going to talk Armand onto the ledge, he’s going to be what Louis was to him. You’re not unworthy of love, you’re not hopeless, you’ve made it this far and you’ll continue enduring. These words will hold you up and carry you.

[fayesdiary]

reverse unpopular opinion for....aw heck, go ahead with Rhea for this one as well

This might as well be a part 2 to the previous Rhea ask so :D

I find Rhea to be so compelling for several reasons, one of the biggest being the inherent contradiction that she is very much capable of caring, loving and trusting others, sometimes with some insane gestures when you realize their meaning behind them (ie. Saving Jeralt's life by giving him her blood thus risking outing herself because of it, letting Catherine keep Thunderbrand despite the fact it's the one Relic she could safely recover- implicitly trusting her with one of her family's remains without any obligation to do so, risk angering a noble house to give Cyril a better life and treating him like her son in all but name)... And yet she cannot, for the life of her, bring herself to be honest with them.

Something fascinating I noticed about Rhea is that she ironically seems to prefer people who are blunt with her, because look at the people she's closest to - Seteth spends all of Part 1 openly questioning her, Flayn is constantly on the verge of accidentally outing herself, Cyril is so direct and honest he sometimes accidentally comes off as rude (Shamir too even if she's not as close to Rhea) and Catherine wears her heart on her sleeve.

Heck, all of them are either not that religious or outright non-believers, which ironically I believe helps reassure Rhea they love her because of who she is as a person and not because she's the archbishop, especially given how much she implies to find the position incredibly alienating.

And isn't that just so fascinating? That she is more than capable than loving others and caring for them risking her own personal safety, she appreciates people being honest with her.... But cannot, will not be entirely honest with them in turn.

Because make no mistake, that right there is Rhea's true fatal flaw: her compulsive need to keep everything a secret.

From the big but understandable stuff that would get her and her family scrapped for parts if it became public to downright pointless shit to hide like not liking hot drinks, and it's the one trait that screws her over the most, between being the reason Jeralt left (since she didn't tell him ANYTHING about what happened with Byleth so he assumed the worst and fled) and the thing preventing her from making connections as deep as she actually wants (like even just telling her loved ones how much they mean to her), as well as getting the support she actually needs. And because she feels she has to bear everything on her shoulders, she crumbles under the weight because no matter how hard she tries, she will never be good enough.

In that sense the role of archbishop is a sort of mask to her. It's definitely a part of her, but also something she has sort of burrowed into like a safety net preventing her from being true to herself. Because that'd mean making herself vulnerable, in more ways than one. To say nothing about putting her surviving family and remnants of her dead kin to jeopardy.

If she were to open up she'd be... More lively, I think. Definitely sillier if Heroes is any indication, and arguably more willing to take a direct approach in helping people. And definitely more loved and happier.

And perhaps, one day she'd realize she doesn't need to bring her mom back to fix Fódlan. She's not doing it alone anymore, after all.

[princess-of-the-corner]

Thinking about the Vigilante AU and OfA!Himiko and wondering how it happens.

I could make it easy and have her at UA like in CC, where All Might was looking for potential successors.

But I had a Thought™

So All Might still offers OfA to Izuku in this AU, but Izuku rejects it. Though surprised, All Might understands. Still, he wants to keep an eye on Izuku so gives him a number to call in case of emergencies and/or if he changes his mind about OfA.

Meanwhile, Izuku starts his Vigilante Career.

He runs into Himiko soon after she's run away from home and started living on the streets. Hasn't /fully/ accepted what's happened to go full serial killer, but being a homeless teenage girl has dangers that led to a few 'drink a bit too much blood' situations(ya girl is still starving).

Izuku finds her and though they do have a scuffle he ends up quickly befriending her and being fascinated about her Quirk. As she slowly opens up, Izuku is thinking of ways to help her. He coaxes Himiko into trusting him and helping convince her that her Quirk isn't inherently bad and that she doesn't have to be a villain.

Eventually he uses the number All Might gave him, seeing if he can help Himiko out. Of course he can. It takes a bit of time because ya know. Gotta clear the assault charges but at this point it was a combination of starvation and self-defense.

As he's helping her, he sees the potential Hero she could be. And when she starts showing interest, he starts seriously thinking about how her Quirk could handle OfA better than most because she's already built to handle multiple Quirks.

Himiko and Izuku still stay in contact ofc, which leads to her knowing about the Vigilante stuff and the two of them sharing information.

[whumpsday]

I get that noble vampire families are Like That and they're what your story focuses on but. How about commoners families? Are they more Normal TM?

Thinking how humans used to keep chickens and pigs and other animals for food until fairly recently (we still do, but most of our meat comes from big farms and not like, a family keeping chickens and eating only what they raise), but still they befriended them/grew attached. And thinking about so many humans eating meat without thinking/purposefully ignoring the fact that they are eating a creature that was killed for them, technically.

Since commoner vampires generally eat bagged blood, are they the same level of being "unaware" of the fact that human blood comes from humans? How would a working class vamp react if they randomly inherited a human from their distant eccentric uncle who died with no close relatives/heirs?

(Apologies if you've been asked this before and for any mistakes in your lore - too many vampire media makes it hard to keep track)

Also sorry if this doesn't make much sense - I have acute brain wormitis tonight

great questions!!! :D sorry you've activated Fantasy Politics Mode

it varies! just like you'd find more conservative and more progressive people anywhere. nobility culture just tends heavily toward conservativism, and while vampire culture at large tends to be more conservative than whatever humans have going on, it's much more balanced outside the nobility, even among non-noble upper-class vampires (though in any society obviously you'll find more progressives in the working class).

more... 'traditional values' type vampires might have a mindset like "vampires are inherently superior to humans and it's fine for us to keep them as livestock", while liberal vampires might have a mindset like what you were talking about with how humans ignore the cruelty of factory farms because chicken yummy (this is the reason jim goes vegan post-escape. he can't help but think about it, now.) these two would probably be the most dominant mindsets.

much less common, but more progressive vampires (like bellamy) might have the mindset of "this whole thing is fucked up" and try to only drink ethically-sourced blood, if it's available to them. which it might not always be, depending on the vampire's location and how much money they have to spare. vampires are definitely all aware of where their blood comes from, but those that don't keep their own humans don't really have to think about it unless they choose to.

the scenario of a working-class vampire randomly inheriting a human from a rich distant relative is fascinating! obviously it'd depend on their personal political beliefs, but the fact is that there's a reason vampires without a lot of money don't tend to keep captive humans- they're expensive! humans eat a LOT and if you don't feed them properly, you're not gonna get all your nutrients either. like, think about how much a human spends on food for themselves vs food for their dog or cat. humans eat a ton! they take a lot of upkeep to take care of! it's cheaper to buy blood than keep your own human, because the blood factories can feed humans in bulk. so if the eccentric uncle didn't also leave behind a sum of money, probably gonna have to either sell the human or let them go, depending on the vampire's personal moral standing.

but if the eccentric uncle did leave some money too, this vampire could keep the human. could go a number of ways. keeping and using the human as food, trying that for a bit and then feeling guilty and letting them go, just letting them go to start with... possibilities are endless. but now i am very intrigued by the idea of a vampire caretaker inheriting a human, taking care of them until the long-term effects of persuasion wear off, and letting them go free.

[helpicant-stop]

for the trope game, consider the humble vampire

(vampire au, your thoughts? how to do it well, how to do it less well? the microphone is yours)

A: Love it. Spend my time combing AO3 for it.

as you know i myself have a vampire au (go read it here) and in general i absolutely love love vampire aus! of course some fics do it horribly wrong and makes me take 99999 psychic damage points but in general the concept is simply so Intriguing to me

i think a lot of people (i'm guilty of this too) tend to make wilbur the vampire but ouyghhhh there is just something so *** about vampire or otherwise inhuman quackity, which is why i usually don't go for the ones where he's human and wilbur's a vampire (which for some reason is also the most common?) but instead find the ones where he's the vampire or some other Creature like in my fic

ngl i do think wilbur is kind of predisposed to vampirism like the red eyes and the white streak and the britishness and the undead thing and the poshness and vaguely goth aura all point to him being a vampire but i really would love an au where he's just some weirdo who reads a lot of vampire romance or something

BUT ENOUGH ABOUT TNTDUO!!!! i must talk about ctinarose

something i've never told anyone is my secret carmilla (1872) inspired au with vampire hannah and human tina like it makes me SOOO deranged you have no idea like hannah's this misunderstood vampire who's done shitty things in the past but tina sees past that and into the good inside and i just. ough

the inherently sapphic act of having a strange new friend who wants to drink your blood.... my gawd

vampires in a non-romantic context also really get me like they really are just Guys. 2 years ago when i still liked sbi i had this au where tommy, techno and wilbur were all residents of this ramshackle old mansion and phil was like a fucking osha / social worker employee or something checking for the state of the house and also why there was some random kid living in it.

then he finds out that techno is a werepig (turns from a big scary guy into a cute little pig on the full moon), tommy is a ghost from... whatever time hamilton took place (idk im not american) that died in battle, and wilbur is a vampire that's been maintaining a single sourdough starter for over 200 years. he doesnt even drink blood or anything hes just some guy

i also had this not really an au more like a concept type thing where cpuffy was this sheep shepherd who got bitten by a vampire bat, grew fangs and started drinking the blood of sheep like some ovine chupacabra. very found footage horror vibes

the physiology of the vampire also intrigues me like it can definitely be done wrong (ie whatever twilight had goin on) but there are SO many ways to do it right and im so fascinated by the millions of possible ways a vampire can be from realistic fantasy to sci fi to straight up magic. i love it

[bloodstained-ballgowns]

Things I Loved About Black Widow (2021).

*Spoilers*

Yes it’s been almost two weeks since release. Yes I’ve seen it almost three times now. Yes, all my thoughts are still a jumble. Somewhat ordering them for this post will be difficult.

Honestly, the entire first 53 minutes of this movie is perfect to me. Everything about it. The dialogue, the action, the way it’s able to convey so much without words, how it’s just Natasha, Yelena and Mason, everything is just *chef’s kiss*. (This isn’t to say the remaining 1hr 21mins is bad, it’s just not as perfect as the first act imo)

I have a thing for scores and god bless Lorne Balfe he really understood the assignment on this one. If you haven’t already, take a few minutes to listen to his composition, specifically ‘Natasha’s Lullaby’. I love when you can hear a story in music and I think this score does that really effectively.

Nat speaking Russian! Nat speaking Russian! The way she reverts back to it in the opening scene when she’s scared! I wish we’d gotten more of it honestly, especially in the family dinner scene, even something as simple as ‘pass the salt’.

Also, her Russian accent in the Budapest flashback! It was quiet but definitely there, and it showed that her American one was something she had to train herself back into once she defected, which I appreciated.

“I stashed that like five years ago” Is this a canon hint that Nat hoards her food? Maybe?! I’ll take what I can get to satisfy my headcanons thanks.

Natasha and Yelena’s fight sequence in the apartment is the best fight scene in the movie. No arguments.

So much of my inner monolgue while watching was just ‘imsogayimsogayimsogay”. That much leather and that many piercings??! The BRAIDS?? This movie is for the wlws.

Mason you absolute icon I love how much you care about Natasha I love that you’re sleeping everywhere because same. (You deserved better than to be a Taskmaster misdirect). Please turn up in more MCU properties as Yelena’s contact or something.

“But you’re not a mouse, Melina. You were just born in a cage, but that’s not your fault.” THIS LINE!!!

AND THIS ONE. “You took my childhood, you took my choices and tried to break me. But you’re never gonna do that to anybody ever again.” The emphasis on choice vs children, how it’s always been about bodily autonomy instead of the romanticised horror of sterilisation that Whedon went with. 

“I never let myself be alone long enough to think about it.” I GASPED.

HONOURABLE MENTION: “You didn’t work in the shadows, you hid in the dark,” (or something). There’s something really satisfying about that line. 

Everything about this film is so inherently female, I love it when things don’t reek of testosterone.

I’ve heard some critics say this movie felt really ‘isolated’ and ‘disconnected’ from the rest of the MCU because of the time jump and how many new characters there were and I have to hard disagree there. The appearance of Secretary Ross, name-dropping Tony Stark, and the continued references to the Avengers were not only realistic but also really cemented this oneshot in-universe for me. 

*cue me flapping my hands and opening another draft because every separate point is eliciting another two paragraphs of analysis that I absolutely cannot include on this post or it will never end*. Man I love this movie. See the read-more because this is getting longgg.

Similarly, how it actually carries through on a lot of previous set up, mostly from Avengers 1, like with ‘Dreykov’s daughter’ and “thank you for your co-operation”. I got very nervous when they announced they were going to tackle Budapest because a) I didn’t think anything they came up with would ever live up to the hype people gave that line so it would only end in disappointment and b) I’ve never particularly cared, to be honest. (it was a throwaway line in Avengers 1 that was repeated for nostalgia in Endgame in a context that now makes no sense, forgive me for being indifferent) but I actually loved how it tied everything together.

The way it reclaims her from every male creator that’s handled her (fuck the Russos and M&M) while simultaneously keeping the best of what they managed to foster (again, Avengers 1 is a heavy influence, and rightly so, but it gives a fat middle finger to AOU, also rightly so).

How competent Nat was shown to be without being unbeatable. She fully got her ass handed to her a couple of times, and yes, it’s very unrealistic that she was able to go through two car accidents, fall off that bridge, out of that window and then out of the sky without being seriously injured, but we finally got to see the physical manifestations of some of that pain! She was holding her ribs when she got out of the water, the bruises on her back, the dislocated shoulder, and the blood splatters were actual splatters when she broke her nose rather than delicate dabs.

This might be an unpopular one, because I know this was what a lot of people were expecting more of, but I was glad Natasha’s youth in the Red Room was confined to the opening credits. The aftermath of that training and Natasha as a product of it has always been more fascinating to me than the actual event.

As an older sister myself, the dynamic between Natasha and Yelena really struck home for me. Yelena’s pride in Nat and need for approval and validation from Natasha in conflict with realising Nat’s flaws, wrestling with her disappointment, seeing how human Nat is, were perfectly portrayed by Florence Pugh. I could completely relate to Nat, who, despite trying to convince herself otherwise, couldn’t fight her fierce protective instinct and specific brand of unconditional love that only an older sister will ever feel. 

A diverse set of Widows!

I was pleasantly surprised at the amount of comics references in this movie. The frame where she jumped through the fire from the Waid/Samnee run, the pheromonal lock.

Now I have my problems with Scarlett Johansson, but I came out of this movie with a lot of respect and a little bit of pride in her. It’s clear that she put her everything into this movie, both as an actor and executive producer. She obviously cares immensely about Nat and how she’s portrayed, and it’s clear from interviews that the things she loves and finds fascinating about Nat are the same as the fans. (I also feel a little bit sorry for the way she’s getting brushed over in the coverage in favour of a new and shiny Florence Pugh, so this is me expressing some ScarJo-as-Natasha appreciation).

A big question I had going in was, ‘Natasha’s always reflecting the people around her, but what’s she like when she’s alone, and has only her own mind for company?’ and this movie really answered that for me. Seeing her out of her suit and wearing clothes that were for her, not for a cover or a mission, seeing her drink beer and eat ice cream and let her hair dry while watching a Bond film she’s obviously seen many times before, it was all perfect. The scenes in the caravan were a huge step for humanising women in action movies. 

I’ll probably be adding to this post a lot because this movie will not leave my mind and new things are occurring to me at the most random points. 

See my ‘Things I...didn’t like as much about Black Widow’ post here.

[kneipho]

Hope Springs Eternal Part 1

I shivered

palpably in response to the stimulus of this auspicious winter morning as though I were a nervous acolyte on his first day of probation.

It was that benchmark event called my Birthday.

Like Christmas and Easter they have this annular ring in every sense.

Dates and their import. I was raised to have the healthiest respect for them.

A rendezvous of another kind awaited me later in the day that was seasonal in another sense.

But that just added a certain spring to my step.

Entering my eight decade on earth I dragged that motley crew of bones about me.

Like a hod carrier carting clusters of smokeless polish coal for some imperious client.

But the mind has immense powers waiting to be tapped.

A mineral rich load, a vein of resources with targeted thoughts that were the match for any prescription medicine.

Age is but a number and they can be sung in harmony with one’s universe or jarringly and at odds.

I’m a late in life poet with lines very gingerly crafted at this point in time.

My aunt Virginia who raised me when my mother died started the revolution in my thinking.

“Your mind should be a diary.

Always take note of what’s happening around you and when it happened.

Time, dates, everything.

It always comes in useful.”

She said in that nuanced tonic sol fa accent of hers.

Virginia instilled in me this most functional regard for which I am eternally grateful.

Her words about dates and time echoed continually through the recesses of mind to my ultimate benefit.

I had the required notepad and pen at hand to record anything I could sculpt into a creative ode.

As of yet

a title eluded me but maybe something lustrous, radiant romantic would be apt.

Quite a lot has been composed already much to my surprise.

Virginia’s advice and the embryonic epic planted fertile shoots in my head as I entered the kitchen.

I called it my domain.

Structured in an algebraic fashion with proximity dovetailing elegance it resembled a gallery.

The sink and shrouded tap heads my first port of call.

Stooping over archly I filled a gleaming white plastic jug kettle for that morale boosting first cup of tea.

As I sipped my tea the insights Virginia kindly bequeathed started flooding back.

Those condensed pearls of wisdom regarding time and it’s ambience.

Optimism and cheer were her other passions.

As well as paying attention.

“Focus on your environment. There is joy in abundance.” Virginia opined.

“A treasure trove awaits for those who concentrate.” She said.

“Where there is joy there’s hope.

Time and hope are intertwined.”

Never losing a chance to stress matters time-related.

Typical Virginia logic.

I’m taking it more seriously now as my respect for that statute of limitations called life expectancy approaches.

This lady’s pointers were manfully ingested as my tea stained cup wobbled in my right hand with it’s rivulet of veins.

The tea leaves scattered wildly in that microcosm of a drinking vessel had a fleeting fascination for me.

But as I scanned my surroundings with the eye of a keyhole surgeon I couldn’t help but notice something else.

The kaleidoscope of colour filling the french panel window in front of the kitchen sink.

Window drabness red carded with the zeal of a strict umpire dismissing an offending player.

My intuition told me to brace myself for events both surprising and anticipated .

This afternoon’s engagement is to the forefront of my mind and for good reason.

Think I’ll leave the cell phone behind.

Or did I hear it go off?

My device was of the more crowded cumbersome type with stubborn square buttons that even the more dexterous hand would find difficult to navigate.

The fingers slipped involuntarily like I sometimes did on those treacherous black ice patches.

“It’ll wait. Can’t really be that important.” I said to myself.

It was one of those phones that emitted this discordant buzz when some arrant nuisance rings at the most inopportune time which is often.

“No … face the morning and it’s canvas of brittle prospect.” Speaking with eloquent pride to myself, Hamilton Lake.

Walking outside on this my 78th birthday could be seen as an obstacle course.

I’ve always had a thing about posture.

The feet must be properly positioned and ready for anything unexpected.

The steps from my house could be awkward and angular with hidden crevices.

Those rugged pockmarks gouged out by the chisel of that tyrant called the elements.

The inherent beauty of garden plants, on the other hand,

purged whatever sluggishness there was in my frame.

Their spectral tint and gravity defying droop gave my eyes an optic fillip.

Green border shrubs and yellow rose petals bore a magic that defied description.

Albeit with telltale winter stains.

But the mindfulness of gait and knowing that slippage could be fatal moderated my enthusiasm about my settings.

Onto the yard and then the slope towards town with a propensity for the occasional wobble notwithstanding.

A downward denouement laced with grit and optimism.

The verges on the fringe of each footpath were covered with tufts of flickering grass cavorting about in a light south east breeze.

Haywire brambles whose overlapping tentacles were embedded in every mound or patch.

Star shaped brown leaves as veiled cover for those sharp spines sticking out.

The bane of every bulging blood vessel.

An ice clad descent that can either capsize or upend even the most determined stride.

Ice that most deceptive gloss that far too easily masks it’s latent perils.

Irrespective I continued unabashed.

The heart, portent of fragility, bruising barometer of one’s twilight moment can be an ally.

A motivator of noble human impulse.

My rainbow tipped walking stick was my elder compass.

A bearing locator for crazy paving pavement slabs.

Those structures fractured by peculiarities of sudden temperature with their plummets and summits!

But focus though impaired was motivated by a stoic forbearance imbued with fire in the soul.

Virginia’s velvet toned voice enjoined on us at home to watch the clouds.

The wispy contours, greyed over forms, wooly frills and outlines drifting overhead.

She also warned of their penchant for unleashing torrents which could spoil the daily strolls of even the most ernest of ramblers.

Today the clouds weaved their way across that azure blue path called the sky.

Curiously enough the self same clouds added to their repertoire by the graceful skirting of rooftops and faraway rock formations on the outskirts of town.

“Clouds are a heavenly canvas. A floating exhibit of the firmament.

They inspire poets, works of art.” Virginia said.

They were doing just that in my case with aplomb.

The planned mysterious link up was never lost sight of amid Virginia’s majestic musings.

“Use your imagination or your imagination will use you. The borders between make belief and the real world must always be maintained.

Imaginings of every kind can be triggered by just about anything familiar.

They can assume a life of their own.”

Wonderful counsel from a wonderful woman.

Virginia, however, unlike some philosophers had a marvelous sense of humor but abhorred the canned, corny variety.

Although such humor couldn’t always be avoided I was mindful of her sensitivity on the subject.

Meticulously taking out that pad again I scribbled a few more lines.

It’s beginning to fill up.

The only thing that remains is to have someone to dedicate it to.

The human eye, a person’s best camera turned to the leach like ivy carpet which clung with tenacity to the grey grained stone wall narrowly to my right.

Preserving their corporeal integrity and playing their part while going largely unobserved.

Fir trees, enclosed by pavement railings and gardens had an overwhelming stillness about them.

An unyielding rooted presence.

They too are age defiant when cultivated and getting the right supports.

These trees act as filters for the dust, smoke and fumed manifestations of the modern manufacturer.

Urban heat island effect offset and mitigated.

All these details forensically noted.

A sudden wakening ensued.

“Hi there, Hamilton. Lovely morning for a stroll.”

My inner space rightly interrupted for a different reality.

“Maybe we’ll meet later at one of your favourite spots or a coffee shop.”

Local teens, Sonia and Winfred with whom I regularly crossed paths and swopped pleasantries of a deeper heartfelt kind.

They alighted from their bicycles

“It’s your birthday today isn’t it?

You’d put people half your age and mine to shame.” The young lady Sonia said.

Winfred her boyfriend agreed.

“Such generosity I rarely encountered from my own group.” I thought to myself.

Sonia, a vibrant vivacious youth whose tactful airborne words shone as brightly as her arched angelic face.

Winfred, her boyfriend had a slightly bulging chin and matted haired that looked as if it had been constantly drenched.

His was a handsomeness harrowed out by high jinx and crack of dawn capers.

After a friendly departure this couple dashed off with a daring and delight so dirigere of the young.

As well as the young at heart.

–

Sunday Submission: @mantrabay

Photograph and short story by mantrabay copyright protected.

Part two will be submitted next week with your kind permission.

[mantrabay]

Hope Springs Eternal Part 1.

I shivered

palpably in response to the stimulus of this auspicious winter morning as though I were a nervous acolyte on his first day of probation.

It was that benchmark event called my Birthday.

Like Christmas and Easter they have this annular ring in every sense.

Dates and their import. I was raised to have the healthiest respect for them.

A rendezvous of another kind awaited me later in the day that was seasonal in another sense.

But that just added a certain spring to my step.

Entering my eight decade on earth I dragged that motley crew of bones about me.

Like a hod carrier carting clusters of smokeless polish coal for some imperious client.

But the mind has immense powers waiting to be tapped.

A mineral rich load, a vein of resources with targeted thoughts that were the match for any prescription medicine.

Age is but a number and they can be sung in harmony with one’s universe or jarringly and at odds.

I’m a late in life poet with lines very gingerly crafted at this point in time.

My aunt Virginia who raised me when my mother died started the revolution in my thinking.

“Your mind should be a diary.

Always take note of what’s happening around you and when it happened.

Time, dates, everything.

It always comes in useful.”

She said in that nuanced tonic sol fa accent of hers.

Virginia instilled in me this most functional regard for which I am eternally grateful.

Her words about dates and time echoed continually through the recesses of mind to my ultimate benefit.

I had the required notepad and pen at hand to record anything I could sculpt into a creative ode.

As of yet

a title eluded me but maybe something lustrous, radiant romantic would be apt.

Quite a lot has been composed already much to my surprise.

Virginia’s advice and the embryonic epic planted fertile shoots in my head as I entered the kitchen.

I called it my domain.

Structured in an algebraic fashion with proximity dovetailing elegance it resembled a gallery.

The sink and shrouded tap heads my first port of call.

Stooping over archly I filled a gleaming white plastic jug kettle for that morale boosting first cup of tea.

As I sipped my tea the insights Virginia kindly bequeathed started flooding back.

Those condensed pearls of wisdom regarding time and it’s ambience.

Optimism and cheer were her other passions.

As well as paying attention.

“Focus on your environment. There is joy in abundance.” Virginia opined.

“A treasure trove awaits for those who concentrate.” She said.

“Where there is joy there’s hope.

Time and hope are intertwined.”

Never losing a chance to stress matters time-related.

Typical Virginia logic.

I’m taking it more seriously now as my respect for that statute of limitations called life expectancy approaches.

This lady’s pointers were manfully ingested as my tea stained cup wobbled in my right hand with it's rivulet of veins.

The tea leaves scattered wildly in that microcosm of a drinking vessel had a fleeting fascination for me.

But as I scanned my surroundings with the eye of a keyhole surgeon I couldn't help but notice something else.

The kaleidoscope of colour filling the french panel window in front of the kitchen sink.

Window drabness red carded with the zeal of a strict umpire dismissing an offending player.

My intuition told me to brace myself for events both surprising and anticipated .

This afternoon’s engagement is to the forefront of my mind and for good reason.

Think I’ll leave the cell phone behind.

Or did I hear it go off?

My device was of the more crowded cumbersome type with stubborn square buttons that even the more dexterous hand would find difficult to navigate.

The fingers slipped involuntarily like I sometimes did on those treacherous black ice patches.

“It’ll wait. Can’t really be that important.” I said to myself.

It was one of those phones that emitted this discordant buzz when some arrant nuisance rings at the most inopportune time which is often.

“No … face the morning and it’s canvas of brittle prospect.” Speaking with eloquent pride to myself, Hamilton Lake.

Walking outside on this my 78th birthday could be seen as an obstacle course.

I've always had a thing about posture.

The feet must be properly positioned and ready for anything unexpected.

The steps from my house could be awkward and angular with hidden crevices.

Those rugged pockmarks gouged out by the chisel of that tyrant called the elements.

The inherent beauty of garden plants, on the other hand,

purged whatever sluggishness there was in my frame.

Their spectral tint and gravity defying droop gave my eyes an optic fillip.

Green border shrubs and yellow rose petals bore a magic that defied description.

Albeit with telltale winter stains.

But the mindfulness of gait and knowing that slippage could be fatal moderated my enthusiasm about my settings.

Onto the yard and then the slope towards town with a propensity for the occasional wobble notwithstanding.

A downward denouement laced with grit and optimism.

The verges on the fringe of each footpath were covered with tufts of flickering grass cavorting about in a light south east breeze.

Haywire brambles whose overlapping tentacles were embedded in every mound or patch.

Star shaped brown leaves as veiled cover for those sharp spines sticking out.

The bane of every bulging blood vessel.

An ice clad descent that can either capsize or upend even the most determined stride.

Ice that most deceptive gloss that far too easily masks it’s latent perils.

Irrespective I continued unabashed.

The heart, portent of fragility, bruising barometer of one’s twilight moment can be an ally.

A motivator of noble human impulse.

My rainbow tipped walking stick was my elder compass.

A bearing locator for crazy paving pavement slabs.

Those structures fractured by peculiarities of sudden temperature with their plummets and summits!

But focus though impaired was motivated by a stoic forbearance imbued with fire in the soul.

Virginia’s velvet toned voice enjoined on us at home to watch the clouds.

The wispy contours, greyed over forms, wooly frills and outlines drifting overhead.

She also warned of their penchant for unleashing torrents which could spoil the daily strolls of even the most ernest of ramblers.

Today the clouds weaved their way across that azure blue path called the sky.

Curiously enough the self same clouds added to their repertoire by the graceful skirting of rooftops and faraway rock formations on the outskirts of town.

“Clouds are a heavenly canvas. A floating exhibit of the firmament.

They inspire poets, works of art.” Virginia said.

They were doing just that in my case with aplomb.

The planned mysterious link up was never lost sight of amid Virginia’s majestic musings.

“Use your imagination or your imagination will use you. The borders between make belief and the real world must always be maintained.

Imaginings of every kind can be triggered by just about anything familiar.

They can assume a life of their own.”

Wonderful counsel from a wonderful woman.

Virginia, however, unlike some philosophers had a marvelous sense of humor but abhorred the canned, corny variety.

Although such humor couldn't always be avoided I was mindful of her sensitivity on the subject.

Meticulously taking out that pad again I scribbled a few more lines.

It’s beginning to fill up.

The only thing that remains is to have someone to dedicate it to.

The human eye, a person’s best camera turned to the leach like ivy carpet which clung with tenacity to the grey grained stone wall narrowly to my right.

Preserving their corporeal integrity and playing their part while going largely unobserved.

Fir trees, enclosed by pavement railings and gardens had an overwhelming stillness about them.

An unyielding rooted presence.

They too are age defiant when cultivated and getting the right supports.

These trees act as filters for the dust, smoke and fumed manifestations of the modern manufacturer.

Urban heat island effect offset and mitigated.

All these details forensically noted.

A sudden wakening ensued.

“Hi there, Hamilton. Lovely morning for a stroll.”

My inner space rightly interrupted for a different reality.

“Maybe we’ll meet later at one of your favourite spots or a coffee shop.”

Local teens, Sonia and Winfred with whom I regularly crossed paths and swopped pleasantries of a deeper heartfelt kind.

They alighted from their bicycles

“It’s your birthday today isn’t it?

You’d put people half your age and mine to shame.” The young lady Sonia said.

Winfred her boyfriend agreed.

“Such generosity I rarely encountered from my own group.” I thought to myself.

Sonia, a vibrant vivacious youth whose tactful airborne words shone as brightly as her arched angelic face.

Winfred, her boyfriend had a slightly bulging chin and matted haired that looked as if it had been constantly drenched.

His was a handsomeness harrowed out by high jinx and crack of dawn capers.

After a friendly departure this couple dashed off with a daring and delight so dirigere of the young.

As well as the young at heart.

Photograph and short story by mantrabay copyright protected.

[phcking-detective]

9. Positive Reinforcement

Fic Title: First Blood

Rating: E

Length: 9/33 chapters, ~128k

Tags: Slow Burn, Idiots to Lovers, Trans Character (gavin), Autistic / Asexual / Non-binary Character (nines), BDSM, learning to use good etiquette and safe words, Dom Nines / Sub Gavin, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort

Chapter Tags: hospitals, hurt/comfort, domestic, Nines takes care of Gavin, caring Dom Nines, Gavin has a mood swing / shouting episode but there’s no partner abuse, using BDSM instead of therapy (not recommended btw)

Link on AO3

***

Hospitals suck ass.

Gavin repeats this mantra to himself like one of those meditation techniques. It's not enough to block out how his hip keeps slipping between the three chairs he's trying to lay on horizontally or how fucking cold it is in nothing but jeans and Nines' stupid fucking Cyberlife jacket or the bright fucking florescent—

"Detective."

Gavin squints up at Nines' sudden appearance like he's looking at a miracle—inherently suspicious and wondering what the fucking catch is. He's woozy and tired and somehow also hungry, the nurse took four tries to find his vein, and Tina didn't answer any of his calls from the courtesy phone because who the hell answers phone calls?

"What are you doing?" Nines asks in the sort of tone normally reserved for walking in on someone trying to suck their own dick.

Not that Gavin's ever tried.

"I'm sleeping, fuck off."

"On three separate chairs?"

"You know what?" Gavin sits up and stabs a finger against the android's steel fucking stomach. "I'm tired, I don't have a phone or my wallet, I can't pay for a cab, Tina isn't answering, and I don't—"  

The finger-stabs turn into punches.

"Have. Any. Other. Friends!"

Nines stands there, letting Gavin punch him until the bruised knuckles aren't worth it anymore. The waiting room starts to sway. Fuck, he really needs a snack or something right now. One free cookie and a juice box just isn't going to cut it.

"Here."

The inside of the jacket suddenly begins to warm up. Nice to know it could have done that the entire FUCKING time. Nines also produces Gavin's cellphone from his pants' pocket and offers it to him. Gavin snatches it back and stares at the screen.

"Can't phcking read this," he mutters.

Nines produces his headphones too. When all Gavin does is take them back and hold them stupidly in his other hand, Nines crouches down in front of him. His fucking head hurts so bad, Gavin actually sits quietly and doesn't complain while Nines plugs in the headphones and then puts the earbuds inside his ears.

Your jacket is at the dry cleaners. Nines' voice sounds in his head at a mercifully low volume. I have brought your truck and ordered you a large number five meal with a strawberry milkshake.

Gavin slumps forward and lets his head rest on Nines' shoulder so he doesn't cry. He punches the android's arm and chest a few more times for good measure. It doesn't even crinkle his fancy black dress shirt. Nines stays perfectly still and allows this too.

Your food is becoming cold, detective.

Gavin grunts. He'll get up in a second.

Nines decides he'll get up right now. Those ridiculous fucking yaoi hands grabbing his thighs is the only warning he gets before he's hoisted in the air and held against Nines' chest. Which—fuck, that's hot, but not here!

"Fuck off tin can, leggo!"

Gavin puts up a fight against his partner's gay shit because there are people watching. He can see them right over Nines' shoulder, the nurse at the front desk and the six other people in the waiting room. Yeah, shit's a lot better for gay people now, but that doesn't mean he wants the entire hospital to know what a bottom bitch he is.

"Don't fucking hold me like a fucking child," he complains as they reach the automatic doors.

A second later, Nines shifts him into his arms bridal style, like that's any better.

"Hold me like a man, god damn it!"

Then he's slung over Nines' shoulder in a fireman's hold. Between the giving blood wooziness and suddenly being upside down, he has to stop yelling and just focus on breathing for a second. The rush of cold air when they get out to the parking lot helps.

Even better, when he opens his eyes again, he's greeted by an up-close view of Nines' ass in tight dress pants. Best of all are the thick, powerful thighs right beneath it, marching away. A little bit lower, and he could just bury his face between those thighs and suffocate the way God intended.

Car tires crunch against the asphalt in front of them and Gavin's pretty sure he recognizes the blurry, upside-down image of his truck between Nines' legs. Has the automated driving feature always been capable of being remote controlled, or is that just some freaky shit that Nines did to it?

He doesn't get a chance to think any more about it before he's flipped upright, set inside his truck, and buckled into the passenger's seat like a toddler. It's a miracle he hasn't dropped his phone or had his headphones ripped out of his ears yet.

"I hate you," he tells Nines, just to make sure the android knows.

Nines takes the bag of fast food off the dash and sets it in his lap.

Occupy your mouth.

Gavin makes a face at him. Why's everything he say have to sound so ominously dominating? The passenger door shuts in his face before he can think of something smarter than I'll occupy your mouth though, so he settles for grabbing his milkshake and making loud slurping noises. Nines gets in on the driver's side and immediately takes the milkshake from him, so he counts it as a success. He's too hungry and tired of hurting his hands to try hitting him for it, so he digs into the food bag.

A large number five, fried chicken club sandwich, none of that stupid special sauce, extra ketchup.

Gavin really can't help the moan he makes when he bites into it. But there's only so much toxic masculinity even he can handle, and he'll moan like a bitch if he wants to moan like a bitch. As long as it's just the two of them.

"Mmphfgh. So."

Swallow.

Shit. Fuck, his headphones are still in. Gavin rolls his eyes to try to shake off how he jumped, but he does still swallow his bite before talking again.

"How'd you know to come get me? Tina never answered."

I know the location of the Henry Ford Medical Center, detective.

"Yeah, but who told you to come get me?"

It was an independent decision.

Gavin takes another huge bite of his sandwich to think that over. Some ketchup squirts out the other side onto his fingers, and he sucks it off as obnoxiously loud as possible. Nines flashes red in his peripheral vision. Well, he can't actually see the LED because it's on the wrong side, but he can see his partner's reflection in the driver's side window.

"You find the perp loitering nearby?" he finally asks.

No.

Gavin tries to think of any other reason Nines would come get him but comes up empty.

"So, why did you …?"

He takes another long drink of his milkshake to avoid putting whatever this is into words. Take care of me makes him sound like a child and do the nicest shit anyone's done for me in years (or maybe ever) just sounds pathetic.

We need to get back to work. Humans need food after donating blood. Your jacket needed to be cleaned.

All right, those are simple explanations. Yeah. Maybe that's just how Nines sees it. He doesn't have a social module, so he was probably just solving a series of problems, completing his task list or whatever. Not like. Actually caring.

Except then Nines turns and says out loud with soul-searing intensity, "You are my partner."

Gavin does the only reasonable thing and stuffs an entire handful of fries in his mouth so he doesn't have to look at those pretty blue eyes staring at him like he's important. Or do some gay shit, like cry.

He's not going to cry. It's just been a long day, that's all. He makes the mistake of looking at the dashboard clock.

11:36 am

Fuck.

***

(9 hours later …)

Mmm warm good smell. Food smell. Gavin takes another greedy inhale and feels the warm thing touch his lips. He instinctively takes a bite before he even finishes waking up. It tastes good and kind of chewy, if a little bland. He snuffles and licks the fingers that fed it to h—

Wait, fucking whom'st fingers is he licking right now?

"Fascinating."

Gavin swats the hand away and glares up at Nines hovering over him. "What the fuck did you just make me eat?"

Nines cocks his head to the side. He looks more like a creepy animatronic owl than the cute puppy eyes Connor gives when he does it.

"Can you not tell?" the android asks.

"Can you blow me?"

"I tried that on a banana," Nines says casually, as if that mental image makes any kind of sense.

"Whuh—wh—"

Gavin smacks his lips together and tries to figure out what his mouth tastes like right now. Kind of … cheesy? Like pasta maybe, but without any flavor. Whatever he swallowed was dry at least, so no sauce or anything.

"Why?"

"To know if I could," Nines replies. "My combat protocols automatically activated and my jaw locked shut."

"OK, so you can't eat bananas, but what the fuck did I eat?" Gavin demands.

"Technically, I did eat the banana," Nines says. "Partially. My jaw snapped shut after taking a bite of it inside my oral cavity."

Gavin's dick starts listening to the conversation. It's because of karma and maybe some sort of android fucking witchcraft that now his dick gets hard listening to the bitchiest most stuck up Alexa ever say the words "oral cavity."

Of course Nines notices the reaction right away. Because fuck his whole entire life, that's why. Nines stares down at his crotch and Gavin can practically hear a zzzzzz as his eyes zoom in on his traitor dick.

"Fascinating."

"Tell me what you fucking fed me or I swear to God, I'll—"

"One cheese ravioli."

Gavin stares at him. "A cheese … did it even have sauce?"

"No, I washed that off."

Gavin opens his mouth, stares harder at that completely serious face, and shuts it again. He pinches the bridge of his nose instead, rubbing over the thick gnarl of scar tissue there.  

"Why …"

But that's all he can bring himself to say. For once, Nines is the one who has no trouble with speaking.

"So it wouldn't drip on the carpet," he says, like that's obvious.

"You really think a bit of Prego is gonna be the worst this carpet's ever seen?" Gavin asks.

Nines' face darkens into a scowl that would be terrifying if Gavin didn't know this was his version of pouting. "Do not remind me. I have deleted fifty-seven analysis reports this last hour alone."

Gavin rolls his eyes. "Well, why'd you feed me a cheese ravioli?"

"To save the beef ravioli as a higher value treat."

Gavin looks him over. His left arm hangs down casually by his side, but his hand presses slightly behind his crouched thigh. It looks like he's holding something in one of those magician's grip that makes his hand appear loose and open while something is secretly tucked into his palm.

"You may have the beef ravioli if you sit at the table," Nines tells him.

He stands up and takes a few steps backwards toward the kitchen, raising up his hand to reveal the ravioli. Gavin gets off the couch and marches toward him to kick his ass, but the android matches his pace exactly to step backwards until they're right next to the table. He opens his mouth to start yelling, which immediately proves to be a mistake.

Nines shoves the ravioli directly into his open mouth. Gavin automatically bites down, but the android's reflexes are too quick for him, and he gets his fingers clear before being bitten. Instead, Gavin only bites into delicious beefy filling.

And he would spit it out. He really would, right onto Nines' perfectly shined shoes.

Except it's been a long ass day filled with paperwork about what happened with the reporter and no other goddamn leads and he has no idea how late it is since he fell asleep on the couch, but it's definitely past suppertime and he's hungry as fuck.

(Also, maybe he remembers the consequences of the last time he tried to spit at Nines, and his traitor-dick needs to Shut Up about that.)

Gavin chews the beef ravioli with the angriest face he can muster. It doesn't help that it's really fucking good, way better than the takeout and ramen he usually lives on. Nines opens the lid of the to go box sitting on the kitchen table, and the best smell his trash apartment has ever encountered steams out.

Gavin sits his angry ass down and starts to eat. Fuck him if he's going to waste good food. Most of the ravioli is beef, but there's some cheese-filled ones too, mixed in with the rest in a thick meaty sauce. Nines sits in the seat across the table to stare at him while he eats. Fucking creeper. Always one step behind him, staring at him, following him back home like they're friends or something.

"Why the fuck are you still here?" he deliberately asks with his mouth full.

"Juarez is currently our best lead to identifying the shooter," Nines answers. "As she may wake from her coma at any time, it is most efficient for me to stay with you in the event we are called during off duty hours."

Gavin chews his food. His partner is real fucking good at coming up with totally logical answers that he can't argue against without looking stupid even though he just knows that's bullshit.

"Whatever," he says. "I'm not paying you back for this. Or the chicken sandwich."

Nines keeps staring at him with those blank, lizard eyes. "I did not ask you to."

Gavin pushes back his chair and slams his hands on the table, yelling "Fuck you!" before he even knows what hits him. His moods are like that sometimes.

Nines doesn't even blink.

Usually, that sort of shit would just set him off even more. The lack of response sure as hell drove him to push harder and harder when they first got assigned as partners. Now Gavin just feels stupid, shouting at someone just sitting there.

Stupid. Fuck, he always does this shit. He knows this. He <i>knows</i> this.

"I don't …" Gavin forces himself to exhale slowly out through his teeth, gripping the edge of the table so he doesn't throw something. "Need. Your charity."

Stupid stupid stupid.

"You are my partner," Nines says.

Monotone. Four words and not a single inflection. When Gavin finally makes himself look up from panting at the grain of the fake-wooden table, Nines' face is just as blank. It should probably trigger some sort of uncanny valley lurch in his stomach, but without any micro-expressions for his brain goblins to pick up on and start screeching about, Gavin's anger starts slipping away like resin on tarp.

He looks back down at the table so he doesn't have to see his partner's face.

"If you cannot accept your own rule that partners look out for each other, consider this an investment to ensure you are recovered for our next shift tomorrow."

Gavin exhales again. Then inhales. Stupid. Exhale. At least he didn't throw anything. Inhale. This time.

"Also, I am applying Pavlovian training to encourage behaviors convenient to me."

Gavin sits back down and rubs both hands through his hair. "You're dog training me?"

"Positive reinforce—"

"You can't fix this," Gavin growls out, then gestures to himself and the kitchen at large. "This! Me. Anyone can read a fucking psychology book, dipshit—I already know what's wrong with me. If I could just good behavior myself into getting better, I would have done it already."

Nines' composure finally breaks as he blinks. "I am not a KL-nine-hundred unit, detective. I have absolutely no intention of—"

Gavin groans because he knows the air quotes are coming. Nines looks him dead in the eyes and does them anyway.

"—'fixing' you."

"I hate you."

"I only want to encourage relevant behaviors," Nines continues without acknowledging the outburst. "Such as doing your own paperwork rather than playing games on your phone."

Gavin grunts and manages to take another bite now that he's settled down some. Sure, maybe he'd been dumping all his paperwork on Nines now that the android has proven he knows how to do it properly. But he gets it done way faster and trying to make letters hold still on a bright ass computer screen gives him the worst headaches. God, he probably needs reading glasses at this point but he'd rather his entire head split open than wear that kind of shit at the station.

"Listening to my input at crime scenes."

"Hhegh," Gavin says around a mouth full of beef.

"Basic table manners."

Gavin swallows. "Hey. Fuck off, I do listen to you. I have been, so don't fucking sit there and try to tell me—"

"You have been," Nines says.

Gavin stops with his mouth hanging open. Dammit, he was just getting good and pissed off again, and then the bastard goes and agrees with him. What the hell is he supposed to say to that? It's definitely a trap. Like sarcasm, or some sort of passive aggressive ...

Something.

"Throughout our current case, you have taken note of my input," Nines says. "I was not implying otherwise, simply that I would start rewarding you for doing so."

Gavin narrows his eyes at him. "Yeah? Why?"

"I was forced to work with other humans at the Juarez residence." Nines finally finds some inflection to say other humans like he means radioactive screaming toddlers. "It was not ideal. And while I certainly will not beg for your continued cooperation, I am not above bribery as a means to ensure I can do my work in peace rather than relying on … the kindness of your heart."

Gavin grunts again and goes back to his food. Eating slightly cold ravioli is easier than making eye contact with his partner right now. He might have been a teensy bit better lately, but obviously he's not some kind of android rights activist. If Nines is worried he's going to flip back to being an asshole on a whim or a bad day or because other people were watching, well.

That's pretty fucking fair, to be honest.

"Dog training though?" he mutters after a minute. "Really?"

"I have read many human psychology books." Nines pauses, then adds, "Dipshit."

Gavin snorts and lets the insult pass.

"I can recite them. I understand the words. But they are merely words to me," Nines admits slowly. "Dog training books are much more simple."

"Is this a kink thing?"

Nines rolls his eyes. "Gavin, would you care to explain to me in honest and personal detail why offering food triggered such an immediate and violent reaction? Please include at least three references to your childhood."

Gavin shoves more ravioli in his mouth and smacks as loudly as possible as he chews.

"Then perhaps you would prefer a simpler way of relating to one another," Nines speaks over the noise. "No emotional sharing, no childhood details, no sad sob stories about what made you like this. You behave, you get food. That is all."

"What if I don't behave?" Gavin immediately challenges.

"Then you do not receive any food or treats."

"You gonna punish me, sir?"

Nines glares down his perfectly sculpted nose at him. "If you had listened to my explanation on the benefits of positive reinforcement, you would already know why it is the more effective training method."

Gavin resists the urge to repeat thE MorE eFFeCtIve TrAInInG MeTHoD back at him.

"Also," Nines continues. "You are far too much of a needy little painslut to be truly punished by corporeal means."

Gavin focuses very hard on mopping up the rest of the meat sauce with his side of garlic bread instead of answering that. Even when they know better, he's never met a Dom he couldn't piss off into beating the shit out of him just like he wanted. Technically, if they're counting their little "scene" in the DPD's men's bathroom, Nines hasn't proven himself to be an exception, either.

"Well." He stands up and leaves the mess on the table. "Good luck with your totally not a kink pet play. I'm gonna go watch funny youtube videos until my brain dies."

"Cat videos?" Nines asks as he passes him, raising one perfect eyebrow. "Am I to assume those are not also a pet play ki—"

Gavin flips him off and slams his bedroom door shut.

***

***

1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24 / 25 / 26 / 27 / 28 / 29 / 30 / 31 / 32 / 33

I also have a Patreon for this fic, if you want to support me! $1 gets you access to chapters a week early, $2 gets bonus content and deleted scenes, and $3 gets short chapters from two AUs I’m writing: an A/B/O heatfic and reverse!AU

by the way, Nines totally posted a video of himself feeding asleep-Gavin the ravioli to his blog and it has a weird overly formal title like Human (36M) Instinctively Eats Ravioli During the Course of REM Sleep. all of his posts are like that because they’re meant to be “educational” “”experiments”” and the text posts are just black text on a white background

meanwhile, Connor’s blog consists exclusively of super cute pictures featuring either him and Hank on dates or cuddling on the couch, and Sumo of course. Nines thinks it’s disgusting and dumb and is lowkey (actually highkey) upset that Connor’s blog gets way more views than his

It isn’t even educational!! >:(

[angst-fairygodmother]

Modern Valdo x Reader Part 3 (Angst)

A/N: A sequel to this fic. Let’s be real, this is a series now. I’m going to keep going and cannot be stopped.  I’m going to need a series title or something to refer to this as besides “Modern Valdo.” Also specifically Modern Valdo fics are a requestable thing now. Just decided that. Or like if you want there to be a taglist, let me know? Self-prompted from this list because I wanted the sting.  Word Count: 2975 Content Warnings: language; mild substance abuse; blood/injury

You had been living with Valdo for three weeks now, though it often feels like the situation had been forever, dancing on a wire’s edge, neither willing to be the first bring up that night, too afraid of what might turn out to be nothing in the harsh light of day and logical thought. Still you fell asleep most nights (and woke up some mornings) in each other’s arms, in one sleeping place or the other.

Every apartment you looked at, he found flaws that meant it “wasn’t good enough.” Your things from the place you had shared with Karla took up residence with you or were safely tucked into a secure storage unit that he’d insisted on helping you pay for. You had keys to his place and a parking pass for the garage. He regularly dropped you off and picked you up from work, and you’d get dinner or go to a show. When he had a gig, you were the only person allowed in his dressing room besides him, a surprising expansion of your already extensive backstage access.

“You two are just the picture of domesticity aren’t you?” Lukus joked after a show one night when you had greeted Valdo with a grin and a hug as he stepped off the stage.

“Never thought I’d see Valdo Marx settle down,” Mara added, nudging him with an elbow after you’d gone back to the bar to get drinks for everyone, as had become habit. “It looks good on you.”

“It’s not like that. You know we’re just mates. And Y/N deserves a better man than I could ever hope to be,” he sighed.

“Ugh, you are so whipped man,” Mara clapped Valdo on the shoulder. “Save that sappy shit for the album.”

“What ‘sappy shit’?” you asked, returning with two beers and whiskey sours, just as always, curious to what his bandmates might be teasing Valdo over.

“It’s nothing, Y/N,” he said, smiling as he took one of the cocktails and resisting the urge to kiss your cheek in thanks.

“Hey, Y/N,” Lukus said suddenly, startling you with how close he was now standing. “Wanna grab dinner next Saturday?”

“Um, sure. I love hanging out with you guys,” you said, slightly confused.

“No sweet cheeks, not the group, just you and I. As a date.”

“O…oh…” you blushed, staring down at your shoes as if they were the most fascinating thing in the world, missing the smug grin he sent Valdo’s way or the answering icy, murderous stare. “Um…sure…that might be…nice.”

If you were being honest, you had never considered Lukus as your type (his blondish hair and blue eyes and very squared face were often called conventionally attractive but you just found them boring) or someone you knew very well, but maybe a date would change that. And you were starting to get sick of waiting for Valdo to make a move when the ball was in his court. So maybe you could get over it and just go back to being friends. That was probably for the best anyway.

“Great. I’ll pick you up at seven. Wear something sexy for me.” He waggled his eyebrows at you with a smirk and you rolled your eyes.

~

Just like that, the peace of the apartment was broken, and the week passed in tense moments and frosty silences. Both desperate to bridge the chasm that had formed between you and genuinely wanting his advice, you walked out to the living room to find him sulking and cuddling a pillow and pointedly ignoring you.

“V,” you sighed. “I don’t know what I’ve done to upset you this week, but I could really use your help. You’re the only one I trust for this.”

He sighed and rolled his upper body to face you, but said nothing.

“I’m going to take that as an agreement because it’s the most you’ve acknowledged me all day. I don’t know Lukus that well or what he might be planning for this date thing. What do you think I should wear?”

His eyes, still rimmed in yesterday’s royal blue eyeliner, narrowed. “Something light colored, that way you can find it on his floor in the morning,” he snarled before flopping back over to face the back of the couch.

“Excuse me?!” you stared at him in complete disbelief. You had not inherent problem with the idea of potentially sleeping with Lukus on the first date but the implication in his tone that it was expected or guaranteed both confused and offended you.

“You heard me,” his voice was muffled by the cushions but you still caught its sharp edge.

“What the fuck is your problem?”

You watched his shoulders rise and fall in a dramatic shrug. “You’re not the first person Lukus has ‘dated,’ Y/N. I just know how he does things. He’s not a long-term, take home to the family guy.”

“So what? You think just because you’ve only seen him have one-night stands in the past, that there’s no chance I won’t sleep with him?”

“You asked for my advice. I gave it. Now you should probably go get ready, you wouldn’t want to be late for Prince Charming’s arrival.”

“You’re being a dick.” You hated the tears that sprung, unbidden, to your eyes and the waver of your voice.

“Yeah well, you’re going on a date with someone else. So you’re not blameless in this pain sweetheart.”

“If you have something to say Valdo, say it to my face. But if this is supposed to be your way of telling me you have feelings for me, it’s pretty shit.”

Silence hung over you for a minute before ever so slowly he shifted to face you properly, sitting up and resting his elbows on his knees.

“I do have feelings for you, Y/N. And I thought…maybe there was a chance you felt the same but…”

“Why now? Three weeks ago, I asked you to kiss me. You rejected me that night, and you haven’t said a word since. What was I supposed to think?” You made a gesture of surrender. “So I gave up waiting for you, and now you’ve decided to say something?”

“If you really meant what happened that night, you’d have waited longer than three weeks.”

“That’s a selfish attitude V.”

He shrugged.

“I can’t deal with this right now.” Turning, you stormed off back to the little office space where you had been keeping most of your clothes since moving in, waiting until the last possible moment to apply your makeup for fear that more would be said and it would start to run.

~

You felt terrible. The date with Lukus was on its second hour, and while it was just dinner at a little Italian restaurant (you appreciated that he had found a mom-and-pop place instead of a chain but suspected it was more for the hipster cred than any real devotion to helping small business), it should still have been your focus. Or he should have. Even if he was unfortunately dull and you had nothing of substance in common.

Instead, you kept playing Valdo’s words over and over in your head. The two of you had been friends for years, meeting by chance when you were put in the same orientation group your first day of college. You quickly became thick as thieves and knew every detail, the good the bad and the ugly, of each other. Or at least, you thought you did. But even knowing that he had a temper and an ego which hardly ever combined into something good, you hadn’t expected him to be so cruel.

“So, Y/N,” Lukus said, voice cutting through your thoughts as the waitress came to collect your check.  “Do you want to get out of here? I’ve got…beers and stuff back at my place…”

You smiled apologetically and shook your head. “I’m not much of a beer girl,” you said ruefully. “And I’m afraid I won’t be very good company. It’s been a weird week and I’m not really…feeling it. I’m sorry.”

He shrugged, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “That’s fine. Shit happens. I’ll give you a ride home.”

“Thanks. And I did enjoy tonight,” you lied, feeling an odd lack of guilt.

~

When Lukus idled his old blue sports car in front of Valdo’s building, a strange sort of tension seemed to hang inside the vehicle. Your hand rested on the handle of the passenger door as you tried to think of the polite way to end the disaster of a date.

“Can I, I dunno, kiss you or something?” Lukus suddenly asked, and you shrugged.

“I suppose I don’t see why not.”

He grinned, the dopey, excited expression reminding you of an overly eager retriever offered a bone. The lips that pressed against yours were chapped and damp from being licked nervously during the drive. The whole thing was awkward and uncomfortable and you broke away as soon as it no longer seemed excessively rude.

“Right…well…goodnight?” you said, moving to exit.

“Yeah. Goodnight. I’ll call you or something.”

You nodded, although you frankly couldn’t care less if he did or not. You only hoped that it wouldn’t make things problematic at the next show. The entire thing had been a mistake. Still, you offered a little wave back over your shoulder at him when you reached the front door. There was no reason to be rude about it.

~

Every nerve was on edge as you took the elevator up to Valdo’s (and your? You still weren’t sure where that really stood) seventh floor apartment and you couldn’t pinpoint the reason. Sure, you were still upset over the fight the two of you had, but it shouldn’t have caused such a pit of foreboding in your stomach, should it?

The door wasn’t locked when you pushed it open, which meant that he hadn’t gone out for the night. You couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not.

“Hey, V,” you called out as you entered. “I’m back. Can we…I dunno talk or something?”

There was no answer from the darkened apartment. You reached over to flick on the switch by the door and gasped.

The room was a disaster. Several bottles, and worse candy wrappers, littered the floor and coffee table. At least one dripped dark liquor and dissolving sugar onto the braided rug. Valdo’s shoes, socks, three coats/jackets, and several pairs of pants (none of which were the ones he’d been wearing earlier) were festooned like crepe paper streamers. A straightening iron smoked and singed against the spine of the cheap romance novel, left open on its face with pages rumpled beneath it, that it sat on.

You paused in your inspection to unplug the fire hazard with a soft curse.

The couch looked like someone had flipped it and ransacked it for loose change, though the lean-to of other pillows and assorted blankets suggested more likely that it had been the foundation of an attempted pillow fort. The sight of that made your heart flip. You had seen Valdo build such a structure on two previous occasions: once when his grandfather, one of the few members of his family that truly encouraged his artistic pursuits for enjoyment rather than potential profit, had died, and the other when the band’s first EP received a rather public review from a respected music site that called it “trite, lethargic, and miserable.”

“V?” you called again, softer and hesitant now as you approached the plush hidey-hole. Something crunched under your heel and you stepped back to reveal the now semi-powdered remains of a Thin Mint, which you knew for a fact there weren’t any of in the house (or hadn’t been earlier in the afternoon).

A groan was your only answer.

“You’re worrying me now. So please tell me a) that you’re alright, and b) where you found a Girl Scout with cookies on hand on a random Saturday night? And maybe c) that you did not mug said Girl Scout?”

When you did not get a response, you sighed, dropping onto your knees to crawl under the silky silver-grey sheet that seemed to form the ‘door’ of the textile fortress.

“I swear to god V…” you growled, feeling just a tiny bit ridiculous. Until your eyes fell on his prone form.

His shirt rumpled up, exposing his back. He was wearing no shoes and had somewhere lost a sock (by the look of the remaining one, black with thin purple stripes, it was also not obvious among the ones strewn about the room outside the pillow fort’s protective wall). And his hair, his poor gorgeous hair. About half of it had been forced stick straight; if you breathed deeply you thought you could still detect the singed smell in the air. Several sections were noticeably shorter than they should have been.

Gently you nudged him and he sat up groggily before flopping like a puppet with cut strings and falling onto your shoulder.

“Hello Y/N. Lovely Y/N,” he slurred, emerald eyes staring blearily up at you. He slung his arms around your waist. “You came back.”

“Of course I came back,” you teased, keeping your voice light even as you noticed the dishtowel wrapped around his hand and the distressingly large patch of red on it.

“I thought you’d go home with…him. I didn’t want you to.”

You swallowed and sighed, not wanting to rehash the argument from earlier, especially while he was so drunk.

“Nah,” you tried to seem flippant. “He was a bit boring to be honest. And I shudder to think what you would have done without me.”

“Died.” His face was quite serious as he said it and your heart clenched momentarily.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’ve survived this long without me.”

“But I didn’t live. I needed you for that. I love you.” He rolled his head to press sloppy kisses to the shoulder he rested against and you pushed him away from you, trying hard not to panic.

“Valdo, you can’t just say shit like that. I know you’re drunk but Gods… is that really how you feel?”

You left him sitting there as you climbed back out of the pile and began carefully disassembling it around him, one eye watching to make sure his drunkenness didn’t cause an injury.

He nodded floppily. “I don’t like it, but it’s true. I realized it tonight. Or not tonight. I can’t remember.” He seemed intent on braiding his fingers together as he spoke.

The motion calls your attention back to the towel. “What happened there?”

“Oh! That I remember. I dropped a wine glass and it shattered. I cleaned it up and the glass cut me. It’ll be fine.” He waved dismissively and you rolled your eyes, quickly going to the medicine cabinet in the bathroom for first aid supplies.

You sat cross-legged in front of him. “Give me your hand.”

“In marriage if you want.” He thrust it at you and you tried not blush at the soft look on his face.

Carefully, you unwound the towel and he winced with a hiss but did his best to remain unmoving. You inspected his palm with a frown; it looked like he had basically shredded it on the glass, but luckily there didn’t seem to be any shards remaining. You cleaned the cuts as gently as possible and the pair of you sat in silence. Several of them looked like they might be deep enough to need stitches, but you were uncertain. You layered gauze over them, pressing gently despite the pathetic, pained noises he made while you wrapped it. It would need to be checked again in the morning, when he was hopefully sober enough to decide for himself to seek treatment.

“What happened tonight Valdo?” you asked when you finished, still holding his hand between both of yours. “This isn’t you. Not normally.”

“I lost it,” he shrugged. “You left and I started drinking and then…I dunno.”

“It wasn’t like I was never coming back. Are you trying to say that I’m that much of your impulse control these days?”

He growled and yanked his hand away, standing wobbily and starting to pace stumblingly.

“Don’t you get it, Y/N? I’m in love with you and it scares the hell out of me. And then you left with him and it broke my fucking heart. So I tried to numb it.”

“V…I…” you shook your head. “We should talk about this tomorrow. When you’re sober.”

“Are we going to? Or is this going to be another thing of us just pretending it never happened. Because I can’t,” he slumped into a sob on the edge of the couch frame. “I can’t do this. I don’t want to lose you. But I also don’t want to keep pretending this isn’t how I feel.”

You stood and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, letting him press his face to your middle as he continued to cry.

“I promise, on my life. We will talk about this in the morning. For real, talk. Or afternoon more likely because you are going to be hungover as fuck.”

One hand came up to brush gently through his abused hair as you held him until the sobs slowed to gentle sniffling.

“Now, let’s get you to bed, and then I can clean up from Hurricane Marx,” you smiled softly at him and pulled him to his feet, leading him to the bedroom.

He flopped onto the mattress and gently you coaxed him onto his side, sitting next to him and rubbing small circles on his back until you were confident by his gentle snoring that he would be okay. Then you shook your head ruefully and stood once more.

“What a mess,” you muttered.

[ofxcxdemics]

THE TRUTH OF DAISEY RUTHERFORD.

trigger warnings: mentions of death, murder, blood, assault.

it was the night of the bonfire; the crackle of a fire, the snapping of twigs underfoot, the crunch of leaves, the whisper of fall breezing through the trees, the moonlight pouring in through askew branches.

the lingering breath of a killer.

he regretted it. his hubris had made the academic insatiable, standing by an illicit bonfire on the edges of the st etienne campus. he had no desire to socialise with his fellow classmates, nor entertain the idea that he was ‘one of them’. in light of the scandal that had rocked his life, he had been a recluse. his superiors no longer talked to him, his peers combed over his frail physique with questions. underclassmen laughed when he walked by. although the transformative blog that once belonged to daisey was a well kept secret between the twenty nine other students chained to a fate as caustic as his own, it didn’t stop the blaze of gossip to burn rampantly through private circles and consume attention throughout the school.

texts. emails. word of mouth. even the fucking school therapist approached nate not two days later, their sanguine vocals tinged with sympathy as they drawled, ‘do you need someone to talk to ?’ no, he did not. he wanted to be left in his self appointed isolation, hidden from the world until the torment of his truth had long since ceased. however, it was like... his pain was necessary. his humiliation a means to an end. it had to happen. 

that friday night however, the corrosive feelings of pity had malformed into something far more insidious  — a rage was building inside of him. even as a child, the foundations were set to his inherent anger. every time his parents dismissed him and praised his brother, every time he spoke of joy in academic pursuits that only went on to be ignored, every time his character was made out to be something it wasn’t. brick upon brick upon brick. the wall of his rages now resembled a jenga tower, and that night at the art gallery was enough to send the entire wall crumbling down into a pile of debris.

nathaniel had no interest in attending the bonfire, at least, not for puritan reasons. he did not want to revel in the jollies of his fellow youth, nor acclimiatise to the life he could have had, if things… were different. if his childhood hadn’t been marred by something supernatural that tainted his ability to form connections with those around him. that made him unable to pursue anything other than the truth, and to do things... that no other people understood. no, nate had found himself on the outskirts of the bonfire, the woods surrounding him as the flicker of flames licked at the sky. he heard laughter, shouting. the occasional clang of a bottle against wood for those too inebriated to keep their drinks in their hands. concealed in a curtain of darkness, his eyes traced over the people before him. in particular, the infamous thirty: of which one was a killer, a sentiment that only made nathaniel think of daisey, of the fights they’d had, the truths she’d stolen, and the fate she met. 

and the guilt that would forever swirl in his stomach from what he did, and what... he has to do. 

—

“trust me, nathaniel. playing people is what i do best.”

i stared at her. she sat on the sofa as though anything that wasn’t a throne caused her tremendous discomfort. her legs were crossed, her eyes steely, her eyebrows knotted. her lips full. the look of disinterest was shared in my own, and we stared at each other for an unnatural progression of time. 

“his misery has no applicable utility to my everyday life that vigorous study and academic pursuits could not achieve. your proposal is inane.”

we were as still as marble, or as though we’d been ripped from a painting and left to dry. the infallible daisey rutherford had just become engaged to my brother, through familial connections. neither the future bride nor groom were happy about the arrangement, but money had a way of guaranteeing silence on the matter. upon one of her visits to the ballantyne manor, she sought me out; trouble in her eyes. 

“maybe it’s not about what is useful,” she purred, her lips slowly twisting as she uncurled from her spot on the love seat, strutting over to me. she closed the space that once permeated the room. “maybe it’s about what you want.” her hands on my chest, her head cocked proactively to the side, her tongue tracing her lips - i stared at her in morbid fascination. i swiped her hand away before rising to my feet, towering over her. 

“i have no use for your ulterior motives. your touch will not promise a transaction, nor will an expression elicit the response you are trying to coach from me. be forthcoming with your true intent, and i will hear you. if your desire is to play games, then tear to shreds the manual you’ve used before me. you cannot anticipate my next move.”

the smile on daisey’s face was something i’d never forget. a spark of recognition, awash with something akin to... pride. comfort. taking a cautious step back, she presented her hand in an offering of solidarity. “marrying your brother is my own personal hell, and i want him to pay for it. i need your assistance in making sure that happens.”

despite my better judgement, the clause in my own personal contract that prevented anyone else from joining ranks in my life... i took her hand. and we shook on it. 

that was the day i let daisey rutherford into my life. 

—

the plan was simple. daisey had planned to use me as a weapon to carve out my brother’s heart. the brother who has been used to getting everything he ever desired, being the best compared to his strange and odd brother. in front of him and him alone, she endeavoured to make my brother jealous. daisey was free to have any dalliance she liked, for if anyone were to speak out about it, no one could possibly conceive the estranged match that she and i were. this meant that my brother was sentenced to watching what he assumed was a flourishing relationship as it slowly chipped away at his self worth. 

it had been months now. the charade was no closer to ending.

after one of the many parties the rutherfords’ hosted, i had found myself lingering in a drawing room towards the rear of the house, away from the calamity of the event. daisey got what she wanted, the pained look in my brother’s eyes as we were to pretend not to latch onto each other’s hands as though he couldn’t see. the mask i had been forced to wear had become suffocating, and began to itch. a dissonance struck me whenever i met with daisey. what she and i wanted no longer aligned, and the purpose of our act seemed fruitless. 

it wasn’t long until daisey sought me out. there were only so many places i was known to hide in, and the look on her face suggested that this was the first place she had ventured to. closing the door behind her as she entered the drawing room, clad in a dress made only from the most expensive of fabric, she raised an eyebrow at me. 

“you look miserable.”

“incorrect. this is my natural predisposition.” i deadpanned.

daisey paused for a moment, a sliver of discomfort painting her features. 

“ your natural disposition is your nose upturned, your lips thin. right now, you’re acting like someone you care about fucking died.”

nothing more was said, as the silence simmered around us. turning around, i walked to the window and turned my back to her. as inaccessible as my inner thoughts were, it was true that i had grown tiresome of the predicament we faced. i no longer wanted to be attached to a fictional daisey as i played a fictional nathaniel. but she was a leech; sucking out your blood and extracting your inner most secrets like she had a right to them. she was impossible to quit.

gnawing on her bottom lip, daisey sauntered over to where i stood by a windowsill, resting her head to the highest point she could reach of my arm, wrapping her arms around them. the act was... domestic in nature. i turned to her in confusion.

“but… there’s no crowd. no benefit. no purpose. who are we trying to fool?”

if there was one thing you had to know about daisey rutherford, it was that she took what she wanted. she didn’t know the word no. she got everything she could ever dream of, simply by aligning her attentions to attaining it at any possible cost. to this day, i still do not know if her succeeding actions were motivated from desire... or utility.

“ourselves,” she whispered, turning my head to face hers.

she closed the gap between us, and she pressed her lips against mine.

i didn’t stop her. i don’ think i ever had a choice.

—

“stay. don’t leave me,” daisey whined, her lips pursed as she sat on the corner of my bed.

i stared at myself in my full body mirror, slowly buttoning up a white shirt. my expression was stoic as always, painted almost as pale as the fabric that covered my body. “i promised oz we’d go, dais. categorically speaking, you enjoy all social events.”

daisey rolled her eyes at me, before slipping out of bed in her everyday attire, which always somehow managed to eclipse the best formal wear of others she was in acquaintance with. her lipstick however, was smudged. 

“i enjoy you. i tolerate social events. they’re useful  to me.”

i paused. it was not... in the plan for daisey to not attend the homecoming party that night. with the 2019/20 st etienne year beginning, nate could agree that the last place he’d desire to be is an event in which intoxication and duly conversation was its’ goal. but despite his reticence, they had to go. they... they had to go. 

“your peers will find your absence suspicious.” i commented gingerly, knotting my tie around my neck. my breath hitched for a moment. daisey evaporated by my side as her face rested on my shoulder. she put herself on her toes, and she did not look impressed.

“why do you want me to go so bad, nathaniel ?”

i didn’t know how to answer that. and so i didn’t, and instead, stared at her blankly. 

“ugh.” with her signature groan, daisey tossed her hair out of her face before heading to my closet, where a generous stash of her clothing had been deposited over time. 

the feeling sank in my stomach as i watched her go. i couldn’t look anywhere else. i knew that this was a sight to be savoured. 

—

holding onto the bark, jutting into his skin until it drew blood, nathaniel stared at the students, completely oblivious to his looming on the edge of the woods. his mind swirled with thoughts of his secret, out there, floating on the tips of the fire. his mind was affixed to the fact that one of the students in that very woods knew what happened to daisey. his daisey. his mind was also caught on the blog, a killer, a mural, the never ending threats. the role they were all made to play. 

after everything that had happened, nate wasn’t the same person that he once was. and no amount of therapy, of people in his life, or even academic pursuit could change that. 

vengeance in his blood, the brunette stepped away from the trees. he fell into the shadows of the night, as the naive innocence of his fellow students chimed around him. they were happy. they didn’t know. they didn’t know what he did. and as nate slowly fell into the night and the landscape of trees, one thing was true: 

that was the last anyone would see this nathaniel ballantyne. 

[annimusdebbysblog]

Rittenhouse Gains the First Heir Developed Personally by David Himself

Posted by u/annimusprime 1 hour ago

My thought out idea is to make myself 'an OC' 'original character' that I was destined 'had recently discovered' a backup plan that David Rittenhouse placed at a house that I had visited in the present day, an ‘Estate Sale'. I later investigate the paraphernalia I had found at the sold house that the sale was active at. It occurred at Germantown Tennessee, where I live nearby.

I learn that it was breath taking to take into my own hands, the potential power that I could have picked up and seal for David's will and testament. It was a valve, something you'd find at a laboratory, a decorative glass container that was of the essence which David put together with his own blood and energy 'that he believed' was connected to his being and future heir, meant to be land in the hands of the one' so the scroll that was set with the valve, states.

Sounds more like a chance of a lifetime, to lead a bunch of disorganized individuals 'a secretive group' into the master plan for their future. To walk with the master's selected person who was intended deliberately 'positioned in such away. This was done to avoid not making an indefinite mistake in that endowing of a person with such a high position, so what an honor for my feet to be standing before his eyes, one day.

Do you guys remember how the power ring chose a person 'uniquely' fall into the hands of the most unexpected person, the idea from Green Lantern? It's arranged spectacle Allowed the chiming clocks that filled the on-going Estate with noise that immediately began ringing through the halls and rooms of the house, the moment I slowly drink the carefully mixed juice that was in the small valve, after removing the small top 'lid'. It soon seems to sound like pacing tones of patternized music after some while, after listening closely to each chime of the various clocks.

Oh? I forgot how the eventual discovery of these special pieces were erected, to obviously I picked up a small clock key, that I tried in a few of the abstract looking clocks. This key however, was different than the others I've found in some of the rooms. I observed that the key was filled with semi-precious stones 'jewels', that glamoured in the light when it reflected off the lamps and outside window. I was moved inside 'emotionally' becoming enthused that I had identified a possible important key.

I tried attempting to match it with the proper keyhole in a large, but eye aspiring clock, that looked so origami like, especially when it opened before my two wondrous eyes. It felt at the moment, thrilling and gave me a slight brisk feeling down my spine. Once it fully opened, the reveal of what was inside, curdled my heart rate with pure excitement. It was like a box of treasure waiting for me to make a clear landing for it. It was meaning for me to drop in and take it without concern of anyone being concerned of who was in that room and what that person 'me' was doing.

I collected the two-hundred-year old sentimental wealth, most that to David in this case, besides myself. I felt even more like afterward, once leaving the room behind me, just upon closing the outlandishly sizable artistic clock, to attempt leaving the house, without telling anyone of what I just trampled passed that cold, but fair sunny day. When I was driven home 'our pleasant house' the same day, honestly the old clock in the great 'living room' started chiming when we stepped into the house to rest 'relax ourselves'.

Though after four hours, the chiming of the old clock on the piano top stopped, and dead silence filled the room even pausing 'muting' the sound of the television that was on during the same time 'for several lengthy seconds'. To my attention, this experience thus far felt fascinating and somewhat suspenseful when coinciding with the all those clocks and the amazing 'mysterious' tiny fortune I divulged.

Later on, I began reading the scroll 'rolled parchment' again and realized that the pre-existing home owners of that house must have protected and implemented enough respect to not open this family fabergé clock that might have been an heirloom 'passed down through their generations'. It was so fantastic looking, that clock should've settled finally for its last home, a museum, like the Smithsonian, for example, who are those that preserve historic commodities.

I also wondered additionally, that the previous owner of these unparalleled finds, was equally setup so that one day, a person could determine whether to open the clock or not. I felt 'guessed' from evidential knowledge that from the source of the scroll, about how David directly and specifically intended only one inherent person to be fully responsible and knowing of his plan involving the situation with the novelties.

His plan was frank and discerned that since I opened the clock, which maybe I wasn't supposed to be the one to do so, as it could have been originally planned that another person should have, who wasn't there at the time. There really is not telling who it should have or needed to be, for the person who suddenly was slapped in charge of everything, as David must've dreamed about and wanted. One statement, that if translated from French, says that the person who opened both the scroll, not in David's hands, and drink the formula, that he made 'concocted' serum, assigns without error, that person to be the new heir leader of Rittenhouse.

Yes, the person based on the scroll's rule, is certain with definition, states that a person is considered chosen, with the human empowerment to have enough nerve inside 'I'd suppose' to manage and run the next directive 'strategic' force 'endeavored with goal' to reach the next step ahead. I must be that person, the scroll says, the person selected therefore by the clock, aka David, appears that is, make no mistakes that I was mis-elected for this job and opportunity.

This knowledge I grasp is that the family withholding this secretive clock in their house, were too frightened and overwhelmed to touch or interact with this piece of history, and encrypted inside 'tremendous power' for the world's future, or at least America’s. I was still in awe, with thoughtfulness, yet deeply intrigued to have uncovered such an exhibit.

So, am I supposedly gonna replace or 'I'd pray work along with' as a probable right hand, like a lieutenant or a first officer, to David? That's a huge and jump of the latter of positions for just anyone, like me. I think it's my patience and ability to take everything into one thought at a time, and then spread it out to see all the details. I take too long than average to figure out how to solve difficult cases, like a conscientious detective mentally looking at all the data and analyzing every aspect and structure of each 'normally ignored element' to pursue solving it.

Anyhow, I also along with that, felt it a little too good to be the mere fact of what this might simply be represented by. All the fixation on who is needed to rule the organization and how it is administrated. I felt if this is the action the Founder was willing to take, rather than appointing someone for the job by one-on-one choice for the stature of importance. This means that these people as a whole were losing for a couple of hundred years and need 'desperately' a naturally talented and faithful, loyal individual to be in command.

*Rubs numb hands together* Right, maybe I'll figure out how to meet David in person. Discuss 'one-on-one' about this situation. I agree to help, but only under circumstances that make rational sense, despite unnecessary confusion that may turn out misleading or show deception to what appeared to be legitimate material, decides the strange drink. I had been personally bothered by why the organization had exerted a desperate move, like this. The only reason that resolves explanation would meander around the idea that they've been losing 'trendily' missions so often.

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Eliza you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Sirius Black

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Sirius Black is a character held very close to my heart, and let me say that when your application came through we were obsessed! You capture him so well, I found myself so drawn in with every new section. From your explanation of him as a character to your headcanons and question responses, it’s obvious to us that you love him as much as we do and will write him beautifully. We’re so excited to see you join us, welcome to the group! *Your faceclaim change to Matthew Daddario has been accepted.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Introduction: I’m Eliza, I’m 22, and my preferred pronouns are she/her.

Activity: I’m currently in my final year of uni, so aside from any sudden tsunami of work (always possible) I’m legit doing nothing except sitting on my laptop trying to figure out how to procrastinate my Commodus essay. So, uh, high.

How did you find us? through the marauders era tag, I think!

Anything else? Nothing that I can think of.

IN CHARACTER

Desired character: Sirius Orion Black – Orion for his father. Sirius is a family name; he’s technically Sirius Black the Third, but that’s not something he likes to shout about.

Birthday / star sign: Sirius was born on November 3rd 1960, which makes him a Scorpio, and if you need anymore proof that astrology is real I don’t know what to tell you.

Occupation:

Bartender. Sirius doesn’t need to work – his Uncle Alphard made sure of that – but he learned the hard way that nothing’s worse for his mental health than sitting around all day, picking at old wounds. He works at a bar just off Diagon Alley, wizarding, except for the occasional lost confused muggle. He’s good at his job; he likes to talk to customers, he enjoys small-talk, and he makes a killer martini – plus, it’s the perfect position to be in to gather information. He’s friendly with his boss, and on the second floor there’s a large room that is the perfect size for meetings of a book club. A very special book club, with no books.

Faceclaim:

I absolutely love Miles, but finding gifs for him is tough – could I use Matthew Daddario instead? (or, if you hate him, Aidan Turner or Harry Styles or Ezra Miller?)

Reason for chosen character:

This is actually the last part of the application I’m filling in – I’ve spent ages trying to figure out how to answer this question. Why did I pick Sirius? I can write him well, that’s true, I have a proper handle on his voice and how I think he’d react in most situations, but it’s more than that. I think that Sirius, in any marauders era rp, has the greatest possibility for plots; he’s extroverted, has a finger in basically every pie, and his future looks pretty bloody dreadful from a canon perspective, which is something I love. Give me all the blood and tears you can and I’m happy. Besides, I like Sirius. I think he’s a good man at heart, but his flaws are so immense that he’s fascinating to write. So I guess I picked him because I’d like to be his friend, but would hate him at the same time, and that’s all you want in a character, really.

In this section you should also describe the character and how you see them.

Inherently, Sirius is a man with many flaws that often overwhelm him. He is trying to be good, but not always succeeding. He enjoys the pain of others too much for comfort; he can switch to cruelty in an instant when threatened. He has much less of a conscience than James does – in fact, many would say that James functions as his conscience, that the two of them are two parts of one whole. When, at sixteen, he finally left the Black family for good, he cut them off in his mind as well as in practice, finding it easier to cope with the pain if he forced the world into black and white instead of shades of grey. It is only as he gets older that he is beginning to see the difficulties of choice facing his cousins – but his pride won’t let him admit such a thing. He was brought up with all the prejudices that came with the Black family name; his parents, though not Death Eaters, were violent people, viciously against muggles and muggleborns. He’s certain that his father at least is a murderer, and knows that they rejoice in the insanity of his cousin Bellatrix and all that brings with it.

The main way Sirius coped with the loss of his family was by demonising the lot of them. That isn’t, in a way, incorrect: the Blacks were and are at the forefront of the Death Eaters, and Sirius was always too compassionate to easily accept that ideology. But equally he refuses to see any good in them. Anyone who is even neutral in the war turns his stomach. He cannot understand the difficulty of choosing between your morals and your family – after all, he did it, didn’t he? He sees fighting as the only moral option, and that puts him in conflict not just with Death Eaters, but with other bystanders too.

Preferred ships // Character sexuality // Gender & Pronouns:

Bisexual | cis male | he/him

Preferred ships: I’m a sucker for wolfstar, but honestly anything with chemistry works for me. If you can come up with a horribly angsty plot, so much the better, because Sirius is not lucky in love.

Details:

Walburga and Orion had a happy marriage, but it was not one that set a good example to their son in terms of love. They never showed affection in public – Sirius never saw them so much as hold hands; when, as he was storming out of Grimmauld Place for the final time when he was sixteen, he saw his father place a hand on Walburga’s shoulder, he knew that he had truly gone too far to turn back. Their affection was based on fierce loyalty, concurrent goals and ideology, and matching intelligence that they both passed down to their eldest son, but they treated each other only with cold respect in front of their children. With no model of domestic harmony to fall back on, Sirius has never been very emotionally capable. Passionate by nature but always unsure of the affection of others, he tended at Hogwarts to fall into a pattern of obsession and then rejection that had him labelled a womaniser.

Sirius’s love for boys – it is a love for boys, he’s long since accepted that; at first he told himself it was just because he liked sex, but that theory’s been scuppered over and over again – is something that he is relatively open about. He is lucky in that his group of friends are quite accepting; even those who don’t understand the sexual revolution that has been happening in the last decade see it as another of his quirks, oh, that’s just Sirius. His self-confidence, as fuelled by the Marauders, has meant that he has rarely struggled with his sexuality – it’s another thing his family would hate him for, and therefore something else to be proud of.

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER

Potential plots:

1. James Potter:

James and Sirius are two parts of one whole – Sirius sees him, with typical casual self-deprecation, as the sunlight to his own shadow. Sirius is hardly the sort of person to let anyone take a curse if he’s in the vicinity, but for James Sirius is pretty sure he’d do anything. Not only did James complete the transformation, already begun through his parents’ cruelty, of Sirius from Pureblood supremacist to fully-fledged blood traitor, but also makes him the best person he can be. Around James, all of Sirius’s rough edges are smoothed out; he’s at his funniest, and also at his kindest. They see each other every day, people take the absolute piss, and Sirius loves it.

2. Remus Lupin:

Ah, Remus. Sirius has been in love with a lot of people throughout his life – he can’t help it, he’s a Scorpio – but Remus, well, he lingered. Not that Sirius would say anything, and he spends half his time mocking his friend so thoroughly that no one suspects, and anyway, he’s over it, obviously, times five hundred. But there it is – Remus Lupin, lingering.

They work well together, is all. Remus looks blankly at him every time he makes a bad joke, which is excellent for Sirius’s ego; when Remus wakes up bloodied and furious with himself and the world, Sirius is there, feet up on the bottom of his bed, bottle of water in one hand and cigarette in the other. Remus knows that Sirius secretly likes to read, curled up in his kitchen with a mug of strong coffee, and Sirius knows how Remus likes his gin (strong, expensive). They might not be like James and Sirius, but they can sit in silence for hours, and a lot of the time, that’s all Sirius needs.

3. Regulus Black:

For a long time, Regulus was Sirius’s only friend – something he now says in a tone that’s supposed to be funny, but no one really laughs. A large part of Sirius, larger than he’d like to admit, knows how similar they are, how easily he could have been like Reg, had he not been the heir and subject to more pressure, had he not had James, and for a while he tried to be James to Regulus. But it was fruitless; perhaps it always would have been. Every so often they see each other, and it makes Sirius want to go and drink for five days – usually he then does.

4. Aversio

Sirius was an obvious choice for Aversio recruitment – not only is his cousin Andromeda a member, but he has often vocally and emphatically (and sometimes violently) declared his dissatisfaction with the Order. Weighed down by bureaucracy and occasionally the very prejudices they claim to fight against, Sirius sees the Order as a useless, bloated organisation, too afraid to do anything except wave placards in the air outside the Ministry. He has taken part in several Aversio attacks, but keeps his involvement entirely secret, except from other members. He is suspected, of course, and doesn’t like to openly lie, but there’s no proof; he’s still a member of the Order on the surface. He sees fighting fire with fire as a moral choice – to do anything other than the utmost is to betray the cause, and to be no better than the enemy.

Mini-headcanons:

nicknames padfoot

star sign scorpio

mbti ESFP, the Entertainer

greek mythological counterpart Poseidon, god of the sea, of earthquakes, of storms and horses, protector of seafarers, associated with drowning and madness.

season autumn

deadly sin pride

heavenly virtue liberality

element fire

flower gladiolus. Gladioli symbolise strength of character, faithfulness and honour, as well as remembrance and infatuation, with a bouquet conveying to a recipient that they pierce the giver’s heart with passion.

colour storm-grey

wand elm wood, unicorn hair, 11 inches, excellent for hexes

patronus black dog

early bird or night owl night owl

greatest fear rejection by his found family

secret superstition has a terrible habit of crossing his fingers while he sleeps to ward off bad dreams

small facts

Sirius can ice skate. He can play the piano. He can ballroom dance. He can make a wicked spaghetti bolognese. He likes to read, but can’t write to save his life; his handwriting is something close to incomprehensible. He has an average singing voice, he loves muggle music, and he wishes that he was born a Beatle. When he was fifteen years old he lost his virginity to a distant French cousin of James’s somewhere behind the Potters’ Quidditch pitch. He has been in love, at various points in his school career, with Remus Lupin, Lily Evans, Glenda Chittock, and probably Minerva McGonagall. He hates anything that tastes like nuts, won’t touch sugar quills, and changes his hairstyle every three days. You can tell that he’s unhappy because he retreats inwards, goes quiet, stormy. He likes Quidditch but prefers motorcycles, much to James’s disgust. He thinks marriage is a scam, but secretly wants children desperately. He loves cats, but they hate him. He would die for his friends.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

Do you think it is more important to be feared or loved? Which would you rather be?

SIRIUS: Loved, for sure. Who’d say feared? Being feared is awful; there’s nothing more toxic. It wraps itself around your lungs like a sickness, like clove cigarette smoke, and twists you all up inside until it’s all you lust after, that look in someone’s eyes when they’re afraid of you. No, that’s not for me – I couldn’t trust myself not to want more. Love is good enough.

What is one thing you would never want said about you?

SIRIUS: That I was boring. Can you imagine? You’re sitting there, in your Hufflepuff scarf (you’re definitely a Hufflepuff in this scenario), and you’re eavesdropping on some older, way cooler students (one of them is especially dashing) and they say that they got trapped in conversation with you on Tuesday and couldn’t get away. They wanted to get away from you because you bored them to tears. I think I’d rather die than be in that position. You know what they say – all huff, no puff. Or something. Do they say that? They should.

If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it!

SIRIUS: oh, I’d absolutely invent a cure for lycanthropy. I don’t know if it’d be a charm, or a potion – probably a charm, because Lupin’s the worst at taking potions on time, and he’s the only werewolf I give a fuck about. Wait, did he not say that? Did he forget he was a werewolf? What, and I’m here, slaving over a cauldron, wasting my life away in this dingy basement (obviously I’m brewing this world-changing potion in a basement, by torchlight, also for some weird reason I’m wearing a full-length black robe?) like Nicholas fucking Flamel? I swear to God –

What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

SIRIUS: it’s not necessarily that I find making decisions hard. I make decisions fast, and find it hard to go back on them. It’s more that – well, making the correctdecisions is difficult.

When I was sixteen – and I’m not introducing my age because I think it excuses it; it doesn’t, I’m just trying to set the damn scene – I made a mistake that could have – well, I was going to say it could have destroyed my friendships, but it was more than that. It could have made me a murderer, and Remus too. I’m only telling you this because I am assuming it will never go any further than the two of us. I don’t tell other people’s secrets.

I hated Severus Snape from our first day at Hogwarts. He was arrogant, and he was nasty, and he was clearly in deep with the dark arts, which I don’t hold with. Prongs hated him too, for other reasons that he’ll probably tell you considering he takes any opportunity to go on about Evans. And sixth year was shit. Again, that isn’t an excuse – but that’s what my mindset was, that autumn. My uncle Alphard had just died. I knew that I would never see my brother again, and traitor that he was, he was – is – still my brother. I came back to Hogwarts in September and it felt like a dark cloud had just broken over my head. It wouldn’t go away. I’m going to put this bluntly, because it’s how I do things best – Remus is a werewolf. That’s relevant.

In November, we all knew Snape was sniffing around. Moony had been off at the beginning of the month, and it had been a shit full moon; I wasn’t in a good enough place to control him as well as I should’ve been, and we were all roughed up the next day, Moony the worst. Prongs had a nasty black eye, as I remember; I had a cut up face, Peter was limping. Snape had been watching us. We were all on edge; he’d been close to figuring out Moony’s secret for years, and we knew that if he found proof he’d spread it all around the school. He’d want Remus out – expelled, or worse. As December grew closer, we grew worse. We were snapping at each other, we were getting close to fights every damn evening. Moony was pale and ill the entire month, there wasn’t even the usual grace period between moons. It felt like everything was bad.

The full moon was on December 2nd. That day, James and I had had a catastrophic fight about everything and nothing – we bickered like fucking lovers back then. I bumped into Snape at the bottom of the Astronomy tower, and I – I told him where to find Remus.

God, I regretted it. I regretted it immediately. But even then, even though I knew it was wrong, I hadn’t figured it all out. I’ve always been bad at seeing consequences. When I found James and told him, I was laughing. I thought we’d give Snape a scare – then he’d never bother us again. James has always been a better man than me; he knew immediately what would happen. Remus would kill Snape, or bite him – we weren’t sure which was worse. James went after him. He saved his life. Snape wasn’t grateful, the fucker, but I – well.

Remus forgave me first. He shouldn’t have; I didn’t deserve it. I couldn’t give less of a shit if Snape dies, but Remus would have been affected; I would’ve made a killer out of him. But we could never fight for long; we don’t give each other the silent treatment. I think Remus would forgive me anything. James, on the other hand, took months. Even now, he looks at me different. That’s the sort of decision I’d take back in an instant. That’s the sort of decision I find hard to make.

REACTION TO LAST EVENT DROP

Sirius would be right up there with Amelia and Dirk at the Quidditch match – he fiercely believes that Aversio has the right way forward, and especially after the Order’s apparent dismissal of Edgar Bones’s disappearance (Sirius sees everything other than intense passion as dismissal), he’s feeling even more frustrated and disenfranchised. He would absolutely be helping Marlene and James, though likely getting in the way somewhat, given his tendency to go in all guns blazing (all wands blazing?) when it comes to his family. Fuck Bellatrix is his phrase of the week…well, the month. The year?

I don’t know if Sirius would take direct part in the actual mission to rescue Edgar – it probably makes more sense rp-wise if he didn’t, maybe because the others don’t trust him (though I don’t know if James would leave him behind). Either way, Ed’s return is a positive for two reasons – one, Sirius likes the bloke, and two, he’s hoping he can use Ed’s rescue as a concrete example of Aversio doing better than the Order. Politics, mate.

WRITING SAMPLE

Sirius Black was up a tree.

He didn’t spend a lot of time up trees, as a rule. But it was the first of September, and as such he was avoiding people - and in the Potter household, the only place it was feasible to be alone was in the branches of the huge oak tree in the grounds, out by the Quidditch pitch. He’d climbed it, hands slipping on the wet bark, about an hour previously, and he was starting to shiver.

It was unseasonably cold for September. The wind whistled through the leaves of the trees and caught at his hair, tangling it into messy curls; he huffed and pushed it out of his face and let the rain sweep down in huge sheets. He imagined it washing his features away, leaving him with nothing but a blank canvas which he could paint over, inscribe new eyes, a new nose, a new mouth. Maybe he would make himself a Potter. He closed his eyes and imagined them hazel and bright instead of grey and sharp, and knew he was being fanciful. In the Black household, being fanciful was on a par with dreaming below your station, and Sirius, though naturally imaginative, couldn’t shake that last remnant of his mother’s distaste.

He opened his eyes and watched the water drip off his eyelashes in diamond flashes. He was freezing. Surely, he thought, somewhat bitterly, if this was meant to be a formative moment in his life the world would allow him a few more moments to be at least healthily warm so that he could get his musings into better shape. But it was not to be: he was starting to shake, and even he couldn’t pretend to be fine much longer.

Below him, a figure was struggling through the wind, down the sloping grass from the front door. “Sirius!” the figure howled into the combative weather, the wind tossing his voice away towards the lake. “Oi! Black! Are you completely fucking insane?! Get inside, it’s half-eight! Mum’s made bacon!”

Bacon - now that, at least, jerked Sirius out of his stupid melancholy mood. He slid gracefully down the trunk of the tree and landed with a thump and a squelch of mud in front of his friend, who glared at him through rain-speckled glasses.

“I,” he explained, with dignity, “was having life-changing thoughts.”

“Brilliant,” snapped James, in a manner that suggested it most definitely was not. “But Catchlove’s tits can wait, Black, because I’m starving.”

[skylights422]

Ok, so having binge-read Vanitas no Carte late in the evening/night when I was tired, I have decided I need to write about it before I can focus on any of my other hobby-related duties. If I forget/misremember any details, feel free to let me know!

Let’s go through the Big Stuff one at a time, shall we?

1. Noe, his oath to Ruthven, weird crap with his teacher

Noe is a very good-natured, honest fellow, but also pretty naive. He doesn’t seem to realize fully how bad/scary/etc his teacher is, fondly writing letters to him while everyone else who knows him - including his own grandchild, Louis - hate and/or fear him.

Not a lot has been revealed about Teacher other than he is called the Shapeless One and is enemies with Ruthven, which is a point I find interesting because of how suspicious and manipulative Ruthven is. Is that part of why Teacher hates Ruthven? Is it a moral conflict, a political one, a personal one? I’m hesitant to say its a moral one because honestly they are both incredibly shady and manipulative, cold people from little we’ve seen of them. So then its probably personal and/or political, the nature of which would be far easier to guess if we knew either of their motives more clearly. But I suspect their conflict will eventually become, in someway, central to the plot, and that it might possibly have something to do with the curse/oath put on Noe? I can’t see Teacher being thrilled that the man he hates has control over his pawn. (as he would see it)

And speaking of the oath, why does Ruthven want Noe in a position to obey his command, but only once? Is it a precautionary measure because he knows something about Noe’s position/powers, or does he have a specific event he’s planning on using that command on? This whole time I’ve been thinking the command is going to involve Vanitas some way, and it still very well could, but what if it involves Teacher in some way instead? Will it be used in conjunction with whatever power Ruthven has over Jeanne?

And another thing on Noe, I don’t think he’s come to terms with what happened to Louis as much as he acts, and I definitely think  that even is gong to come back to haunt/cause trouble for him in some bizarre, horrific way. The stakes as a gift were made too significant to not show up again at least symbolically, but also perhaps literally, and I think there’s probably a lot we don’t know about Louis, Teacher, and the exact plans the latter had for the former. Like sure he was studying him because he was a curse-bearer, but was that it? What info did he hope to acquire? What was his conclusion at the end of said experiment? Whatever it was, I think its eventually going to become a Big Deal.

2. Vanitas, his character arc, his deal with Vamp!Vanitas and the blond kid, etc.

We recently got a pretty great Vanitas-Backstory-Centric arc and I have a lot of thoughts/feelings on the matter. Learning about Vanitas’s past somewhat and watching him confront some of it was absolutely fascinating and of course gut-wrenching, but as usual, it left me with a million questions.

First, I’m wondering about the blond boy, ‘no. 71′, who I usually just call Blond Boy or Creepy Kid. For this post lets say BB for short. We know he was a brother to Vanitas, but did they get along? BB seemed fond of Vamp!Vanitas, while we know Vanitas deeply hates her, so there must have been some conflict over that, right? What happened to him vs what does Vanitas think happened to him? Whenever Vanitas thinks of him, he’s accusatory and upset, was that actually how he acted or is that just Vanitas’s guilty conscious talking? I’m inclined to say its a little bit of both, because while I think Vanitas could have been fond of BB, and BB may have at least seemingly ‘died for him’. I can’t see them having had a perfect, conflict free relationship either.

And what was the promise Vanitas made to him? Was it to protect him since they were both in horrible situations, but he failed? Was it to free him? Kill him? Why couldn’t Vanitas keep the promise? It could have been because of what happened to BB, or  because of some interference from Vamp!Vanitas, or because Vanitas couldn’t do it due to some personal failing (too scared, too indecisive, etc.). Each of these options have different, but equally interesting repercussions on Vanitas’s character arc. For example, if it was because BB died for him or was otherwise killed/removed/lost before the promise could be kept, it would emphasize Vanitas’s hate of being/feeling powerless and not in control, while if it was because of Vamp!Vanitas then it would be part of why he hates her so much now. And if it was due to his own failings, it would feed a hatred/fear of failing or not being able to decide, as well as increasing his self-loathing possibly even more than the first two options would.

And then I have like a hundred questions about Vamp!Vanitas. Why did she take in BB and Vanitas? Was there something inherently interesting about them to her? Did she want to free them, or was there an ulterior motive? How did she treat them and how long were they with her? I feel like she must have been cruel and/or manipulative, at least towards Vanitas, for him to hate her so much, but that says nothing about how she treated BB. Also did she actually go around killing red moon vampires at all? Is she really responsible for the curse-bearers or is it a coincidence that her book can cure them? Is she dead or alive? I’ve been assuming dead, since Vanitas took her book and name, but if she’s still kicking and comes back, what would that mean for Vanitas?

And of course I could go on and on about Vanitas’s reaction to everything in the last few chapters, but I’ll save most of that for chapter-reviews and character-specific posts. But basically, the fact that he hates Vamp!Vanitas even more than Morreau, and that it was BB that made him completely freeze up more than seeing his previous abuser in person again, says a ton about how bad things got under Vamp!Vanitas’s care, since that’s when whatever went down with BB went down, and i am worried about my trashy noodle for when he has to face BB directly. (I’ve also been wondering how he’s gong to react to that, will he freeze again? Revert to how he used to talk to him? Something else?)

3. Jeanne

Jeanne is one of the main protagonists I might have the most questions about, especially with the 2-Jeanne’s theory floating about. For starters, I really want to know how she came to be working for Ruthven. Is her service entirely part of the oath? Or was she working for him before that? What exactly was she forced to swear to, and how much does she remember about making the oath? When did she become so attached to Luca?

Of course I’m wondering what the end goal is with her with Vanitas on her side of things as well; for Vanitas the point is more obvious, this shows his misogyny and manipulation and allows for discussion on his perception of ‘love’. But what about for Jeanne? She’s being harassed by some wack human who she has promised to only drink blood from, making her dependent on her harasser. I’d say later it has developed into a way for her to explore feelings of attraction (towards his blood and on their date his faux kindness) as well, but I’m not sure what the conclusion to that might be. I also think it could be compared to how she’s also under Ruthven’s control, possibly leading to an arc about her freeing herself from her oath and from Vanitas? Ironically making her a parallel or possible foil for Vanitas who also has themes of imprisonment/freedom/individuality in his character arc? I think that could be a pretty interesting route to go.

And then there’s the ‘second Jeanne’ theory. We know Jeanne is extremely skilled in combat, offhand I can’t remember if she fought in the war or not, but she has the reputation as the ‘hellfire witch’, which I really want to learn more about. And if the Original Jeanne and Current Jeanne are different people, are their personalities significantly different? And with Jeanne showing up in the ‘past’, which version of Jeanne is Vanitas being saved by? I don’t offhand have any theories about this, but I find the idea has potential and leads to a lot of interesting questions.

Also I really love her interactions with Dominique so far and hope that develops into something or another, or is part of her growing independence/her future grab for free will.

4. The Chasseurs

Between Roland, Olivier, and Astolfo alone, there is quite a bit going on with the Chasseurs. For starters, Roland is a character that interests me a LOT. He’s not your normal ‘indoctrinated cult member who’s beliefs are unwavering to the point of seeming one-dimensional’ character; he changes his beliefs based on evidence, but is a firm believer in himself as a holy messenger. So its not so much the specifics of any one religion he’s attached to, its the idea that he’s doing holy work. But what I’m wondering is what does he want to do with that position? What is he trying to achieve? He’s researching vampires now to get more information, but what does he plan to do once he’s finished? Will he actually fight the other captains and abandon the church, or will he continue to blend in with the others while secretly pursuing his own agenda? I’m looking forward to finding out what his end goal is, because I find him a very interesting (and very intimidating) character.

And then there’s Olivier. I really wonder what his position is, why he became a captain. He was shocked but not angry when Roland said he was questioning that vampires were evil. He mainly seemed concerned with Roland’s well being, making me also wonder what their relationship is like. I’m not sure what to make of him yet, but I’m very intrigued.

Finally, Alstolfo. Is he the only higher up killing humans? Does he have his own agenda? Or is this a secret plot involving the Chasseurs as an organization? I’m not sure which I’d prefer; if it is the organization then I wonder why Roland, who is also a captain, seems aware of it. And if it is just Alstolfo...then I have a dozen questions as to why he’d join an institution all about protecting humans if he wanted to kill them. Perhpas this is a new goal, or there are only specific humans/kinds of humans he wants to kill? There’s been too little of him so far to have any concrete guesses, but I’m looking forward to finding out more.

Final Comments:

I would like to just throw in here how much I love Noe as a character. He’s sweet and naive, but not stupid or slow-witted; he’s a good fighter and quite good at analyzing a situation when he puts his mind to it. And I love his enthusiasm for everything, and how he’s so blunt about speaking his mind/opinions. So often the Naive Character is timid/shy, and seems much younger than they are in a bad way, but not Noe. Noe is just awesome and optimistic and a bit oblivious from leading such a sheltered life until recently.

Also, I didn’t get around to discussing Dominique much in this, but I really really like her and want to see how she comes into the plot more, and learn more about her relationship with Veronica and Teacher.

[rastagong-tearoom]

Inspirational Blend #1: Emily Carroll’s webcomics

Hello again, Welcome to the tearoom, please have a sit and enjoy today's inspirational blend of tea! This is the first post in a daily series where I present some of the creative influences behind Sylvan Disappearance.

The very first person I'd like to present you is someone I've admired for a long time, and who's had a huge influence on my interest in narrative games and visual novels. Today, I'd like to present you the work of Emily Carroll, a Canadian comics artist!

Emily Carroll first gained widespread attention for her webcomic His Face All Red, which turned viral on Halloween 2010. Set in an isolated village on the border of the woods, His Face All Red is a captivating tale of horror and jealousy about two brothers and a beast coming from the woods. Depicted with stark lines, sharp contrasts and ominous silences, the story manages to revive in a modern format the eerie cruelty of old fairy tales. Carroll reuses their archetypal simplicity, their economy of words, their formulaic turns of phrases. Her illustrations, which often take the lead of the narration, further set a dark, suspensive mood around the entire story —up until the very last page, which is fraught with ambiguity.

The atmosphere of Emily Carroll's webcomics is also instilled by their presentation. On the first page of Margot's Room, another of Carroll's horror fairy tales, the reader is immediately confronted with a scene of mysterious violence set in the titular room of Margot —blood stains on the bed, broken window and rain hurling in. At the top, a poem recounts elusively a tale of courtship, love, regret and loss. It is only by clicking on the items in the room, guided by the poem, that the reader can uncover fragments of the narrative, and learn the events which led to this moment.

In both of these stories and in many more as well, the core mystery revolve around the themes of family, friendship, and unavowed sentiments. Carroll's narratives tend to center women, and though the form her horror takes is often elusive and ambiguous, it always succeeds in giving shape to the underlying anxieties, guilt and violence to which her characters are confronted.

Often, the setting of her stories is a further vector for the exploration of these ideas, through the isolation and mystery inherent to the location.

Some personal favourites of mine in this regard include My Friend Janna, which you can find in Through the Woods, a book which collects some of Carroll's webcomics, with a few originals as well. The story is set in a misty countryside and revolves around two friends and their morbid fascination for the occult. Unlike the stories I've mentioned until now, My Friend Janna has a more historical, Gothic setting —it could be set in the late Victorian era— which makes the character interactions all the more believable, and the horror elements all the more troubling.

Similarly, in The Nesting Place, which you can also find in Through the Woods, an early to mid-20th century setting can be inferred from the narrative. The story follows Bell, an introverted teenager who recently lost her mother, as she spends her summer in the isolated house of her older brother and his newly-wed wife. This tale is among the longest and most realistic in tone of Carroll; it relies a great deal on nuanced character interactions to paint a complex portrait of Bell and of the adults around her. And yet, the story remains strongly concerned with the archaic folklore of the woods, and the things they may hide. The Nesting Place succeeds in weaving together the unspoken fears of Bell, the strangeness of her brother's wedding and an uncanny horror which came from the woods.

Carroll has also co-created a multiplayer story-driven game called The Yawhg. It plays out like a visual novel or CYOA book, but in shorter sessions, and with friends, each player going on improbable adventures in a fantasy city. Theft, drinking, alchemy, pursuing love… anything is possible —but there is not much time, because the Yawhg is oncoming. It is a very fun game with touching storylines, a mysterious setting, and an underlying atmosphere that is hard to describe.

The mysterious settings, the fairy-tale aesthetics, and of course, the particular shape of Emily Carroll's horror —both folkloric, ambiguous, and yet very psychological— have all played an equal part in my fascination with her work.

In a lot of ways, her stories and their unique atmosphere have driven my interest in narrative games and VNs. More than once during the planning and writing process of Sylvan Disappearance I turned to my copy of Through the Woods to try to understand what made them work so well.

If you have any interest in folklore, fairy tales, and of course in horror, I urge you to try out Emily Carroll's stories! I'll leave you with a collection of useful links for this purpose:

Emily Carroll's homepage, where her webcomics can be read. His Face All Red and Margot's Room are great starting points for her fairy-tale horror. When the Darkness Presses is, on the other hand, a great example of her contemporary horror.

Through the Woods, her book collection of stories is extremely good and very much worth reading if only for the exclusive stories.

The Yawhg, the multiplayer story-driven game she co-created with Damian Sommer

A very insightful critique of her work by Eve Golden Woods which closely analyses their format, and what makes their horror tick

If you're lucky enough to live near Toronto, you'll also be able to meet her this weekend at TCAF! (Inio Asano will be there too! How lucky you are)